Compás
by VampBait
Summary: Faith comes to Neptune looking for new slayers, and winds up entangled in more mysteries than she bargained for. Faith/Weevil, eventually. Maybe. Spoilers include VM Season 2. Post Chosen.
1. Pajarito

**Disclaimer and Author's Notes: **

**Veronica Mars is property of Rob Thomas and the CW, et al. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. No profit is being made from this work. **

**Story and Chapter titles are taken from songs written and performed by the Gipsy Kings. No infringement is intended. **

**Veronica Mars goes AU from Season 2, Episode 17 "Plan B". **

**Buffy the Vampire Slayer goes AU after the Season 7 series finale, "Chosen".**

**Angel the Series goes AU from Season 4 Episode 22, "Peace Out". **

**While small details from the BtVS comics and AtS season 5 may come in to play, I am completely ignoring all major plot points, such as Twilight, Wolfram & Hart, Illyria, and the Circle of Black Thorn. **

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It was late. Too late, and too dark for the young woman walking down the manicured, well-maintained streets that housed the finest mansions in Neptune to look anything but suspicious. She traveled at a normal pace, wisps from her dark braid catching in the breeze from the ocean, dancing around her face. It was obvious to anyone looking that she didn't belong here. Good thing that it was late. Too late for anyone to be out and about, unless they, too, didn't belong.

Faith Lehane fought the urge to check her PDA for the thousandth time. The address she was looking for in the prestigious 90909 zip code hadn't changed. The mansion hadn't moved in the last four minutes, and wasn't likely to in the next four. Scanning her surroundings, she paused, and let out a snort of disbelief. Directly across from her, eight foot wrought-iron gates declared "KANE" in giant letters.

"Yeah. Like I was going to miss that," she muttered to herself. Rolling her shoulders, Faith bounced on her toes once or twice.

"_Security, security.... hm." _she thought_. _Assessing eyes darted quickly over the visible measures.

The gates were locked, with a large, state of the art camera and intercom system attached. Spreading out from there was a ten foot high brick privacy wall, with attractive shrubbery breaking up the lines in a yuppy, Feng-shui kind of way. Also, it provided ample space for checking out the interior grounds, if you were a good climber. Which Faith was. Or a good jumper, at any rate.

A quick hop, fueled by supernatural strength, and she was perched atop the wall, glancing around. Looking, always on guard, for anyone that might notice, anyone that might see. So far, so good.

Trespassing on private property was sort of a theme in her line of work. Not that she was a criminal. Well, at least, her felony of past choice wasn't B&E. No, her current line of work was investigative. A freelance troubleshooter for the New Reformed Council of Watchers – a council of eight whole watchers. Ever since the closing of the Sunnydale Hellmouth, the survivors of the battle with the First Evil had been working hard to figure out the new rules of the game. Buffy Summers, the most senior Slayer, was mostly retired, doing a whole lot of international travel with a side of club hopping. Rupert Giles, the most senior surviving Watcher, had been spending his time setting up a new base of operations in Cleveland. Cleveland, Ohio. Home of the _other_ Hellmouth.

Faith had put in her time – two years, in fact – as a teacher, a trainer, a live-in 'bad example' with the NRCW. Frankly, as soon as she could hit the door without being arrested, she was begging Giles for some kind of roaming assignment. Anything that would give her a chance to live anywhere other than a houseful of hormonal, temperamental, super powered teenage girls. It wasn't as bad as her stint in prison, though she joked otherwise. But it still wasn't the sort of thing she was made for.

It took every minute of that two years to get back the trust. She was never going to be a "Scooby", and frankly, at this point, she had accepted that and moved on. But when push came to shove, and the apocalypse season heated up, Giles, Xander, Willow and Dawn all knew they could count on her to do her best for them. She only had to save Dawn two, three times before Willow relented and used her techno-witchy ways to solve Faith's little "fugitive from the law" problem.

So it seemed ironic to her that within a year of being on the road, looking for new Slayers and fixing demon-y problems, she was relying more and more on her old-school, pre-teen penchant for illegal behavior.

At least she wasn't breaking onto the Kane estate to steal. She was breaking in because a girl had been murdered here. A girl who just might have been a Slayer.

Faith dropped soundlessly to the grass. She was quick, she was quiet – she was completely confused that the motion-activated ground lights hadn't engaged.

"_Now that is effin' weird..." _she thought.

Weirder still, there was a muffled thumping coming from around the side of the mansion, from the pool area that was her goal.

Crouching low, she darted from decorative bush to shrub, staying as hidden as possible. Her information stated that the residents of the Kane mansion were out of the city, and had been for quite some time. There was no reason for anyone to be here, especially at two in the morning, unless they were up to no good. Or they were a Slayer, trying to check out an old crime scene.

Faith found a good vantage point on the roof of the pool house, and scaled quickly up the side. Hopefully, she could remain unnoticed here. Worst case scenario... well, Giles said he'd be good for bail money, as long as she was on the job.

Her eyes narrowed as she settled down to watch. Two men in dark clothes were digging a hole near the pool. Not a big enough hole for a body, but for some kind of small bundle that lay near them. She had no idea what they were doing, but was pretty sure it wasn't good. And to top it off, while these yahoos were digging up the yard, she couldn't do her own checking around.

A silent debate began. Should she confront them, smack 'em around a little, maybe find out what they were up to? Or should she slip away, and find some way of notifying the authorities?

The sight of a holstered gun at one of the men's sides quickly decided her in favor of leaving as soon as possible. She might be fast, but she'd never met anyone who could outrun a bullet. Besides, she had more than one reason to be in Neptune, and checking into this Lilly Kane thing was at the bottom of her list of priorities.

It didn't take her more than five minutes to slip back off the property, and pull out her phone.

"Angel Investigations – wait," a gruff, sleepy voice answered. "What time is it?"

"Hey, Gunn. It's me. I need a quick answer."

"Faith? 'What the hell' o'clock is not the time for you to expect me to be quick about anything," Charles Gunn replied. "I am not a 24 hour service."

"Was there a home phone for that detective agency in Neptune you guys network with? Maybe a PI on call? I need some local intel in the next ten minutes, or-"

"-is the world going to end?" he interrupted. "'Cause if it's not, I'm gonna be pissed at you for waking me up."

"Yes. Yes it is," Faith deadpanned, crossing her fingers.

"Gimme a sec." There was some rustling, and the faint sound of a laptop booting up. "Um... Here we go. Mars Investigations. Keith Mars."

"I already know that," she began.

"Then 411 his ass or something! I just have the fax and office numbers. Damn, girl. Why did you call me?"

"I guess I shoulda thought of that," Faith tried not to laugh. "Sorry."

"Yeah, you better be," he grumbled, then hung up.

Moments later, the information operator connected her with a residential line. It took six rings for another sleepy person to pick up.

"Mom?"

Faith blinked a few times at the young female voice.

"I'm trying to reach Keith Mars, of Mars Investigations?" she replied politely. There was a long moment of silence on the other end.

"This better be worth the fee... hang on. DAD!"

The brunette winced at the shout coming through the phone. Fumbling. A click. Her third cranky, sleepy person of the night picked up.

"Keith Mars... this had better be good."

"Mr. Mars? I'm really sorry for calling you at home-" she began.

"That really is why I keep office hours," Keith responded with a bit of an edge.

"I'm going to go ahead and fast forward through the part where I apologize some more, and you get crankier, and you ask who I am, and we finally wind our way around to my point, which is that right now, at this exact moment, there are two guys who I'm pretty sure don't belong there digging a hole in the backyard of Kane Manor. Now, I guess I could call the sheriff's office, but word is that the man is a moron. Since you were the one who caught Lilly's real killer, I figured you might know who these bozos are, and what should be done about them." Faith held her breath, hoping that she'd made the right decision.

Silence. A throat clearing.

"What?"

"Two dudes. Digging. Kane place. I think they're burying something by the pool. If you want to do something about it, I'd suggest putting a rush on it. No idea when they'll be done."

"I don't suppose you have a good reason to know this-"

"Did I mention steppin' on it? Look, I'll be square. I was doing a little snooping myself. My name's Faith, and I'm happy to come by the office sometime and tell you all about it. I swear I'm not making any of this up, and I really didn't know who else could handle this. Please tell me you can handle this." Faith clapped a hand to her forehead. Could she sound any more suspicious? Probably not.

"You're going to have to do better than that," Keith began, when the young female voice from earlier broke in.

"Dad, I already called Clarence Weidman. Listen, lady, if this is a joke, we'll find you. If you're telling the truth, we'll still find you. Your best bet is to find us first. At the office."

"Veronica! What do you think-"

Faith rolled her eyes to the heavens in thanks, and quickly hung up. She was not good at this whole phone thing. Hopefully this Clarence guy could do something. Just in case, though, she did a quick sweep around the estate, and wrote down plate numbers of everything within a few blocks. She was just heading back to her ride when her phone buzzed with an incoming text from an unknown number..

I DID MENTION WE'D FIND YOU.

She grinned. This Veronica chick seemed like fun times.

Morning came early in the Mars household. It came even earlier when Veronica couldn't sleep after a weird, middle of the night tip about shenanigans at the Kane's. A bowl of Fruit Loops sat in front of her untouched, growing slowly soggier as she watched the kitchen clock tick ever so slowly towards seven.

At seven, she was going to call Clarence Weidman. At seven, she was going to get some goddamn answers if she had to kill somebody to do it.

Her milk turned red, then kind of a greenish brown as she tried to make time move faster by sheer willpower alone.

"This sucks." Halfheartedly, she dug her spoon around the bowl. Her nose wrinkled as the cereal rings turned to mush. Veronica let out a frustrated noise, jumping to her feet and yanking her breakfast off the table. She had to leave for school at eight, and had plenty of time to get ready. But first... first, she desperately needed to know what happened. She could find out at seven. Seven seven seven seven.... Soggy cereal went down the disposal, and Veronica took a kind of joy in the loud, obnoxious whir the machine made. It was over too quickly.

Seven. Not yet.

She made herself wash out her bowl. Slowly. She walked to her room. Slowly. She brushed her teeth and ran some gel through her hair. Then she flossed. And hunted for blemishes on her nose. Applied some eyeliner. Picked out her clothes. Anything she could think of to take up precious time before she could _make that damn call_. She was just about to rearrange her textbooks in alphabetical order when her phone started playing "Secret Agent Man".

Veronica froze. Counted to five. Took a deep breath, and answered as casually as she could.

"Hey, Clarence... calling a little early, aren't you?" She faked a yawn, congratulating herself on her nonchalance.

Clarence Weidman, head of security for Kane Software and all-around problem solver, chuckled softly. "Are you trying to convince me that you haven't been waiting by the phone for me ever since you called last night?"

She scoffed. "I have my curiousity well in hand. My mild curiousity. It's kind of a vague interest, really. But if you're in a sharing mood..." she trailed off.

"Well, a pair of gentlemen were, in fact, apprehended at the Kane estate last night. So your tip was good."

"And?"

"And I assume that's enough to take care of 'vague interest', to know your informant was telling the truth. But if you're _curious_..." There were few things in life that gave this man more joy than yanking Veronica Mar's chain. At this exact second, he had the upper hand, and even though they had established a kind of truce during the hunt for Amelia DeLongpre, he was enjoying listening to her squirm.

"Okay. You win. I'm dying here. Tell! Tell!" she broke after a long pause.

Clarence laughed. "They were trying to bury Aaron Echoll's Oscar statue. It had some blood and hair on it that I sent off to be analyzed. I'll know more in a few days."

"What? Who would do that? Why would they do that?"

"That's what I plan to find out. They're not talking. Yet."

Veronica swallowed hard. It wasn't too long ago that she watched him dangle a college student out of his dorm window. She didn't want to know what he would do to get answers out of the trespassers.

"Good luck with that, then..." she trailed off.

"I'll be in touch. Oh, and Miss Mars?"

"Yes?"

"I'd appreciate if you could let me know where you got your tip from. Professional courtesy and all. It seems that we're on the same side in this, once again."

"I'll see what I can do," she replied softly, before hitting the button to end the call. More questions.

"That is exactly what I need," Veronica spat out sarcastically. She glanced at the clock. There was still an hour left before school.

"AARGH!"


	2. Hermanos

**Author's Note: **

All gang names and gang-related references are intentionally fictional. If I accidentally at some point mentioned a real gang, or any but the most generic of actual organized crime customs, I assure you, it is not on purpose.

Eli "Weevil" Navarro was tired.

Scratch that.

Weevil was friggin' _exhausted_.

It'd been close to eight weeks since the PCHers decided they were better off without him. Two months. It'd taken almost that long for his broken ribs to heal up. Less than that for the split lip, broken nose, dislocated shoulder, concussion, and bruised kidneys to stop hurting. In that eight weeks, Weevil had learned exactly what it meant to be alone.

Yeah, his family tried to keep his spirits up. _Abuelita_ tried to hide the fact that she thought getting out of the gang would be better for his GPA. Ofelia was happy that Uncle Eli was around more, even if he couldn't swing her around quite yet. He worked after school at Angel's garage, he actually went to class... it's not like he had anything better to do.

Felix was gone. Felix was _dead_. That's what happens when you get caught up in some star-crossed, Romeo and Juliet bullshit. Even Weevil knew that, and he slept through English class for the last three years.

Even as he thought about it, he felt ashamed. Felix may have had the poor-frickin'-taste to fall for a Fitzpatrick girl, but that wasn't something worth getting killed over. There was a reason why Thumper shanked him on the Coronado Bridge. And if there was a reason, there was probably proof.

Weevil scrubbed his hands over his stubbled scalp, and went back to staring at the box at the foot of his bed.

Two coveralls, a Penzoil calendar, a stained NHS gym shirt. A yellow toy truck. A battered, dogeared catalog for Santiago Chopper Specialties, so worn that the pages were coming out. Everything from Felix's shop locker. He couldn't say how many times he'd gone through it all, trying to make sense out of madness.

It wasn't that he thought there would be some kind of smoking gun in the box. Not some kind of message saying why, who, and how, ready to be handed over to the authorities. No, when Weevil went through Felix's things, it was to try and remember.

Yeah, he could fix cars, he'd liked blonds, he hadn't given a rat's ass about gym class. He had wanted to be a trucker, and he'd really, really wanted a custom chopper out of the Florida specialty shop. Same as any other 'spic in this zip code.

Eli and Felix had been friends since before they were born, practically. First day of kindergarten? Suspended together for throwing worms at girls during recess. Fifth grade? Busted for smoking cigarettes they'd stolen from Felix's brother, Gustavio. And when it came time to join up PCH, they got jumped in during the same week.

There was never any question who'd become number two when Weevil took over after Reaper Gus got disappeared. Felix had his back. When Weevil's cousin, Chardo, messed up enough to get kicked out of the gang, it was Felix he trusted to know when it had gone far enough. It was Felix he trusted over his own flesh and blood, Felix he considered to be his brother.

He never got a chance to repay that loyalty when Felix was alive. Now all he could do was try to make things right with his ghost. To get some justice for him.

He didn't think he could do it alone.

Glancing at the clock, Weevil stood. He shrugged into his denim jacket, so much lighter than the leather he used to wear. Keys and backpack in hand, he headed for the door.

He wasn't going to find his answers by sitting on his ass.

Weevil was early getting to school. He was always early, anymore. Too much restless energy, too many messed up dreams, and too many Red Bulls worked together to keep him from sleeping more than an hour or two most nights. Most days he would give up and head in to the auto shop, take apart some engine parts and reassemble them until his brain stopped thinking so many thoughts. Same things, over and over, like a dog chasing its tail. He was too tired to win, and too stubborn to quit.

He hadn't been much for going to church since he was little enough for his grandma to drag him to cathecism. He wanted even less to do with it since he'd found out that Thumper and the Fitzpatricks were dealing drugs from the confessional at St. Mary's. Even still, Weevil rubbed his shoulder, using the tattoo of the cross as a kind of rosary.

"God... it's been a while, but I figure you owe me something. Anything," he whispered.

Rounding the hallway corner, he spotted Veronica Mars juggling an enormous cup of coffee, her laptop, and her messenger bag as she fought a losing battle with her locker. A tiny smile twitched on his lips.

"Figures."

"Sonofa-" Veronica cursed her stubborn lock, trying not to drop her caramel cappuccino, extra espresso, extra foam. A tanned fist entered her field of vision, thumping solidly into the metal above her. The locker popped open.

"Hey, V."

"Thanks, Fonzie," she laughed, shoving her bag onto the shelf. "I'd give you the double thumbs up, but-" She hoisted her burdens meaningfully.

"Hand full. I'd noticed." Weevil reached slowly into his own bag, pulling out Felix's yellow truck.

"What's up, Navarro?" Veronica turned, taking a big gulp from the top of her cup.

"_Would you believe you're a sign from God?_" he thought, before answering. Taking a deep breath, he pulled on his mask of playful bravado. Criminally long eyelashes batted sweetly at her. "I need a favor."

"Ah, yes. As it happens, I'm in a giving mood today," she grinned.

"How giving?" he quirked his brow. "I mean, we've still got a good twenty minutes before class starts..." Weevil rolled his tongue at her, leering playfully.

"But then what will we do for the other eighteen?" Veroica asked innocently.

"You wound me, _chica_." A hand pressed to his chest for added sincerity. Ah yes, the witty banter portion of negotiating with the prickly teen detective. "Or is that just your experience talking? I'm sure that a real man could show you a few things that your '09er exes forgot to cover."

This time, when he rolled his tongue, she caught a flash of metal.

"_Is that a tongue stud? When did he get... damn! Distracted!_" The blonde quickly reigned in her active imagination. "So about that favor..." she changed the subject back. "What did you need?"

"I need help proving that Thumper killed Felix." His playful expression was gone in an instant, replaced with a look in his eyes that Veronica couldn't quite name. It was enraged, it was desperate, it was the look of a man who was holding on to something – _one thing_ – so hard that he was going to snap any day now. She almost flinched away.

It was a look she was intimately familiar with. Her own eyes had looked that way for almost two years after Lilly had been murdered. Clenching her jaw, she nodded, all trace of flirtation erased.

"Tell me what I can do."

Hours later, Veronica sat behind the her desk at Mars Investigations, typing rapidly as she held the office phone between her shoulder and her ear.

"Your delivery hours are...? Mm hm. And how late do your run trucks out of your warehouse? Alright. Thanks so much!" she chirped, disconnecting with a satisfied smile. Thanks to Logan's sudden memory recovery, she had a solid lead on a possible witness to Felix's stabbing. A real witness, not a coked-out doctor in hock to the nastiest guys in town.

Outside the office, she could hear the distinctive sound of a motorcycle pulling up to the walk. She didn't look up as the front door opened, and she spoke up without thinking.

"Hey, Weevs. I've got an exciting stakeout tonight that might just give us some answers," she began.

"Whoa!" A husky, female voice interjected with a touch of annoyance. "Weaves? What's that all about? This hair is one hundred percent mine."

Veronica looked up, startled. Standing in the entryway was a young woman, maybe 5'3", with dark brown curls that went well past her shoulders. She was dressed in jeans and a short leather jacket, and had a black helmet tucked under one arm. Veronica had no idea who this person was.

"Oops. What can I do for you today, ma'am?"

"Well, you said I should find you first, right?" Faith replied with a grin. She was waiting for it. Three, two, one...

"You?" Veronica managed to get out, before taking a second, harder look at the brunette.

"I did tell your pops that I'd be happy to come in and explain," Faith elaborated. "I'm assuming you're Veronica?" She extended a hand to shake. "Call me Faith."

Veronica felt callouses and muscles in that grip, which totally went along with the 'sexy, dangerous, bad girl' vibe the Slayer was giving off.

"Let me get my dad."

A balding head was already poking around the frosted glass door that divided 'detective' territory from 'reception'.

"Oh, Dad's already here," Keith offered, stepping out to meet his mystery midnight tipster. Well, the call had been well after midnight, but 'mystery 2am tipster' just didn't have the same ring to it.

"Mr. Mars? I'm Faith," she continued, changing her stance to offer her hand again.

He smiled, deciding in an instant to be at his most affable, his most charming. "No last name? Like-"

"Like 'Cher' or 'Madonna'," came the interruption. Faith rolled her eyes. "I get that a lot."

Veronica snorted, then tried to cover it with a cough. She cast a pleading look at her father.

Keith Mars sighed quietly. "Why don't we all go into my office, pull up a chair? I have a feeling this might take a while."

Faith gave him a wide smile. "Sure thing."

She followed the detective back into the smaller room, tossing her helmet onto the floor next to the desk, and pulled out her wallet.

"I'm a licensed, free-lance, Bail Enforcement Agent," she began, sliding her credentials across the desk before Keith could get seated. "I also do some field work for Angel Investigations, out of L.A. You were in their Rolodex, so I assume you know who I'm talking about."

Keith couldn't hide the look of surprise on his face as he studied the photo ID the woman presented. J

"Angel Investigations? They're the ones with that funny lobster on their letterhead, right?" Veronica inquired.

Faith chuckled. "Yeah. That's us."

"Do you mind if I ask what brings you to Neptune?" Keith spoke up, trying to get control of the conversation.

"I pretty much travel the country, taking cases that interest me, unless the guys at the AI office have something they need me to do. Turns out a client is very interested in making sure that the Aaron Echolls trial is an _actual_ trial, with fair and equal pursuit of justice and shit, and not some three-ring media circus chock full of witness tampering and evidence boo-boos." she drawled, leaning back in her chair. She stopped herself just in time to keep from crossing her ankles on the detective's desk. Good impressions were important. Fred and Wes kept trying to tell her that.

"And of course, your client's privacy is your first concern," Keith replied sardonically. This could be a play by the Echoll's defense, or by some wacko fan. The young bounty hunter could cause more problems than she could potentially solve.

Faith paused to consider her wording. It's not like she could blurt out that an international organization of supernatural crimefighters wanted to find out if the murdered girl was equally superpowered, and to make sure that the guy that killed her wasn't some kind of demon, vampire, or force of darkness.

"Let's just say that my client has taken the murder of Lilly Kane very personally," she stated carefully, arching a meaningful brow. "Family is extremely important to them."

From what she knew, there was an older brother who had run away to avoid kidnapping charges. Faith had learned the hard way that the best way to lie to someone is to use the truth.

Keith's eyebrows shot up. Duncan Kane had hired outside detectives to run interference? He glanced at Veronica, questions in his eyes. As much as he hated his daughter's role in Duncan's flight from the American court system, he doubted she was careless enough to remain in contact with the missing boy.

"As good a reason as any, I suppose," Veronica shrugged, responding to both parties with the same words. She had no idea if Duncan had done this. When they had last communicated, he was getting ready to smuggle his daughter over the Mexican border in the trunk of Sheriff Lamb's car.

Faith nodded. "The part where you come in, is that I'm a little out of my depth. See, I'm good with the part where I hunt someone down, haul 'em back for justice or whatever, and I've got the patience for the long stalk. Problem is, I don't have anyone else on the ground here, and I'm not sure where to start, or what the real skinny is on the area."

Veronica and her father exchanged a long look. They both knew plenty about the seedy underbelly of Neptune, and the dangers it presented.

"I'm cool with whatever your going rate is, or if you want, I'm more than willing to lend a hand if you need a temp undercover, or if you just want to trade favor for favor. Whatever gets you on board." Faith finished her pitch with a casual air. Truth was, the Mars duo had a reputation for being like a pair of pitbulls with a bone. There was no shaking them loose once they'd gotten interested in a case. They also had a reputation – Veronica especially – for being somehow connected to every bad thing that happened in the county. Hanging around with the blonde would definitely keep her from getting bored.

Last time Faith got bored on the road, it took four days, two international flights, and a ritual burning of a first edition _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ to get everything settled back down. Her lips twitched as she remembered just how pissed Giles had gotten over that one.

Keith nodded slowly, his mind working furiously. "I can at least agree to the first part. No offense, but I have no idea how you operate, so I wouldn't want to put my name on it. I'm sure you understand."

Faith laughed. "No offense taken. Offer'll still be good as long as I'm in town." At this, she turned her attention to the other young woman. "So. Did that Clancy guy get back to you on whatever? I stuck around the Kane's long enough to see Tweedles Dumb and Dumber get black bagged into a van on their way out of the gate." She glanced over at Keith, unsurprised to see him expressionless. "At least, I hope it was whoever you called, because it'd be a hell of a coincidence otherwise."

She watched, wanting to get annoyed at yet another silent conversation between father and daughter.

"I'm going to go out on a limb and say that's a 'yes'." she interjected, retrieving her wallet from Keith's desk. "Would it help if this was a billable hour?"

Veronica's eyes widened slightly at the neatly folded hundred-dollar bills the bounty hunter began counting out. She reached four and showed no signs of stopping.

"Ms. Faith, that's really not necessary," Keith began.

"Necessary? Stanford, daddy!" Veronica piped up with her patented airhead grin.

Faith smothered a laugh. Buffy did that same look sometimes. "Guess that was a little crass... Frankly, I'm more used to dealing with people that need a little cash, or a little tune-up before they talk." She heaved a sigh. "Am I getting anywhere here?"

"Maybe we can find some kind of middle ground," the detective offered. "What exactly were you doing on the Kane estate last night?"

"I wanted to get a look at the scene. I know any evidence is a couple years cold – leastwise, it should be – but I'm kind of a visual person. I like to get feel for the area," she responded easily. Again, this was mostly true. The thing she neglected to mention was her desire to see if her Slayer-sense would tingle at the scene of the crime. "I'm kind of new at this particular kind of gig, but I've been tracking bad guys, rescuing kindnap victims, and dealing with all kinds of lowlifes for a while now. Figured I'd start with what I know."

"Always a good place to start," Keith replied somewhat inanely.

Faith started to continue when her voice cracked. She coughed. "Damn. It's been a minute since I did this much talking. Can I get some water, or something?" She made as if to rise, but Veronica beat her to it.

"Sorry, I'll get it. I should've thought of that earlier, but there was a whole 'shock-surprise-hey, leather' thing to work through first." Another grin, and the teen ducked out to the kitchenette in search of beverages.

Taking advantage of the moment, Faith quickly continued for Keith alone. "Another thing is, I can't help but notice how often your daughter has some kind of brush with death. One of my contract stipulation is that I offer to _you_ -and not to her- some backup for her. Seems convenient that we're all pretty much on the same case, and I'll be honest. I'm hella less conspicuous as a bodyguard than some Stone Cold Steve Austin-wannabe, and I kick twice as much ass." She smiled winningly.

"I-"

"Here you go!" Veronica popped back into the office, two water bottles and a coffee mug in hand. "Did I miss anything?"

"My references," Faith smiled, pulling a small notepad from her inner jacket pocket, and tearing out a page. "Here's a list of my last fifteen cases that are okay with being known, with contact info. Take your time with that, I'm sure you'll want to double check them," she winked.

"Super considerate, and good for getting past these pesky trust issues!" Veronica couldn't help but like this chick, but that certainly meant that she was some kind of psycho or serial killer. A quick background check would do wonders for their future relationship, though.

"I aim to please."

Keith glanced at the list. The first two names practically jumped off the page at him. Both were high-profile, high-dollar bail skips right upstate. In fact, he'd been beaten to them both by a matter of hours. If this list was the real deal, then he'd underestimated her.

As if to continue his train of thought, the brunette pulled out yet another page from her pad.

"I don't know if you're sharing info with Clancy, but once I got back out of the mansion last night, I took down some plates that I ran down earlier today. Here's a list of cars, with locations, parked within a four block radius of the Kane's last night, listed by registered owner. I went ahead and eliminated anyone who was parked by their own house. It might help in getting an ID. At this point, my not being local doesn't help me play the 'one of these things is not like the other one' game." This was the sort of thing she was better at. Less pussyfooting, more accomplishing.

Veronica hopped up on her father's desk to look over his shoulder at the page.

"John Enbom was parked in front of his girlfriend's, no surprise there... Ooh! Looks like Dr. Abrams has his office manager do more than his filing... aaand, Waldo!" She jabbed her finger triumphantly at the paper. "A 1999 Chrysler Town & Country, parked within 500 feet, registered to Declan Sharpe. I don't know who that is, but no one in the '09s is going to be caught dead in a seven-year old car. Plus, the Sinclairs? No live-in help, and that's whose place it's parked nearest."

Veronica looked around expectantly.

"What? No cookie?"

Faith burst out laughing.

"That's my girl," Keith fawned, reaching over to pat the teen on the head.

"Well," she huffed, pretending to be offended, "if that's the kind of appreciation I get, I'll just go elsewhere."

Still snickering, Faith started clapping slowly. "Better?"

"A little," she pouted. Veronica would have continued, but her cell began to ring. "Oh, crap-" Picking up, she listened for a second, before replying. "Just a sec, I'll be right out."

"Darling? Stop. Explain..." Keith coaxed as his daughter hopped off his desk and made for the door.

"Oh, I'm just going on a little stakeout thing. You know. Nothing big. Don't wait up!" Veronica bolted. Grabbing her bookbag, she ran out to meet Logan's car. Swing shift at San Diego Seafood was about to start.

Faith gave the PI a sympathetic look. "Anything else you want to discuss? I've got a long, boring night of motel pay-per-view callin' my name."

His own expression was nothing if not long-suffering. "You say you can keep an eye on her? And it won't cost me anything?"

A grin split her face wide. "I'll make sure she stays in one piece, man."

Keith shook his head. "Oh, I'm gonna regret this."


	3. Quiero Saber

**AN: Some lines taken from VM s2, e17, "Plan B"**

* * *

Keith looked up from his newspaper as Veronica wandered into the kitchen. She always looked so young first thing in the morning, all bed-head and sleep-filled eyes. As she started to pour herself a cup of coffee, he moved a thick stack of computer print outs over to her usual seat.

"What's this?" she asked, once the caffeine had jump-started her brain. Perching on a kitchen stool, the teen began leafing through the pages.

"Everything I could find on Faith. She's got identities with about six different last names, but I think I found her original one. Dug all the way back to her birth certificate." Keith calmly took a bite of toast.

Veronica shuffled papers until she found the correct copy. "_Jennifer_ Faith Alvarez Herrera. That's a lot of name for someone who only goes by the one." She snitched an orange slice off her father's plate.

"Most of the rest of that is intel on the list she gave me. I managed to track down another twenty or so cases that I'm pretty sure she had something to do with solving, all for the last three years." He reached for the milk, and poured a bowl of cereal. "Coffee and fruit does not a balanced breakfast make."

Veronica made a face. "Thirty five closed cases in three years... that's not bad."

"Especially since some of them ranged between northern Canada to south of our border. Some of these skips ran for weeks, it seems like. Every one she tracked down had a history of violent assault, and at least five figures in their reward." His expression was serious. He wasn't sure what to make of the young bounty hunter, but there was little doubt in his mind that she was very, very good at what she did.

"Didn't she say that bail enforcement wasn't even her main gig?"

"Subcontractor for that LA detective agency. And they don't exactly handle cheating spouse cases. More like, multiple murder, missing persons, kidnapping..."

"Sounds like good times. How do you get into this kind of thing? I mean, you've got the whole sheriff-turns-detective thing, but wouldn't she have to jump right in after high school? I mean, if you say she's been doing this for a few years." She picked up her spoon, and started eating her breakfast before making a face. "Shredded wheat? C'mon dad. This stuff's for old people. There isn't even any frosting. Where's my high fructose corn syrup?"

"Fiber's good for you," he scowled.

Her gaze narrowed in return as she reached for the sugar bowl. "Back on point, chief."

Wiping his buttery hands on a napkin, Keith continued his earlier train of thought. "Apparently, she's the daughter of an ex-Army Ranger who teaches advanced survival classes at an extremely expensive military boarding school in southern Florida. Guess where she's been going since kindergarten?"

"Yikes. Sounds like she can do some serious damage."

"Yeah. Last year, she tracked a serial killer down to Mexico. Not a lot of details, but seems like it was some kind of Manson family thing. She crashed into their safe house at nightfall, and walked out around dawn with the little girl the sickos were going to kill next."

"That's pretty impressive," Veronica said with her mouth full.

"My sources were pretty insistent that Faith and that little girl were the only survivors."

"And I repeat: yikes."

"She's dangerous," Keith stated firmly. "But," he relented, "she's never been charged with anything, and as far as I can tell, she's damn good at fixing whatever crisis she's pointed at."

"Does that mean she can be my new BFF?" she bounced on her stool.

Keith grinned. "I think that the trouble you two will manage to find together will make the universe implode. However, I can't see how her presence in town is a bad thing, and she might be useful to have around." He shrugged.

"Sweet." Veronica shuffled more papers. "She really is a 'problem solver', isn't she? Some of these cases dragged on for years before she got involved..."

"Yup. See anything else interesting there?"

Frowning, she looked over the information again. "Born September 29th, 1985-" her eyes bulged. "She's only twenty!"

"So you really can be BFF's!" Keith responded with fake cheer.

Still trying to digest all this new information, Veronica didn't even mind that she'd lost her third battle of wit in as many days.

* * *

Weevil was waiting in the lot when Veronica got to school, leaning against the hood of his car near her usual parking space. It was still strange to see him out of his leather jacket. It was stranger still thinking of him in a vehicle with more than two wheels. Locking the door of her Le Baron, she gave him a nod.

"Any luck?" He got straight to the point.

"I found the real witness. Bad news is, he's not interested in coming forward. Not a big fan of the PCHers. "

"Yeah. Their popularity's really gone downhill without me." Weevil spat out a curse.

"I'm going to keep working on him. In the meantime, there are always other angles to explore." She adjusted her bag more securely on her shoulder.

"Well, here's one for you. Molly Fitzpatrick." He shifted his stance, brushing imaginary wrinkles out of the long sleeved gray t-shirt he wore.

"What's she know?" Veronica tilted her head slightly.

"The Fitzpatricks were using that plastic surgeon to pin Felix's murder on Logan. You know what that says to me?" His shoulders squared aggressively, fists clenching.

"That we need tougher immigration laws?" No matter how serious their conversations were, she just couldn't resist the urge to wisecrack. Levity being the cure to all ills.

"No. It says that Thumper did the deed, but the orders came from his supplier. My guess, it was a condition of them doing business together." Just saying the words aloud made the vein in Weevil's forehead start to jump.

Veronica fought to keep her concern from looking too personal. If the ex-biker didn't find a healthy way to channel his anger, he was going to have an aneurysm before graduation. Even now, his face was starting to redden.

"Why kill Felix?" she asked.

"A while back, I found out Felix and Molly had a thing. It got serious, sneakin' around, talking about a lifetime of truckin' their brains out." He shook his head at the thought. It was kind of a nice idea, though. Getting straight, holding down a decent job, having a family. Well, Felix's dreams were dead now, too.

"Golly, Miss Molly. Didn't see that one coming." Veronica blinked.

"They were in love. Molly said if her family found out, they'd kill 'em both." Weevil's mouth twisted into something that wasn't even close to a smile.

"So you're thinking that maybe they found out." This particular explanation made way too much sense to be wrong. It also pissed her off. All those stupid division in Neptune, between race and class.

Weevil's gaze hardened as he continued. "I'm thinking that they were told. Thumper was number three back when Reaper ran the PCH. He's been waitin' a long time for his chance to be the big dog."

"I like this guy less and less every day."

"Don't get me wrong, V. I want a piece of every single potato-head involved. But Thumper, he and Felix used to be boys. And he didn't just sell him out. He didn't just turn all of 'em into the Fitzpatrick's pushers. He took a knife, and he stabbed my brother. Thumper killed Felix, and he's going to pay for it." There was a quiet, heated intensity to his words, and a look that wasn't quite sane. "I'm not really interested in going down for Curly Moran's murder, but if that's what it takes for justice to get served, I'll take it."

"You mean the video Thumper has of you kicking the crap out of the guy? Outside of the Road Hog, on the night he was killed? That video?" Veronica gave him a mocking thumbs up.

"Yeah, that one." He didn't flinch. Weevil wasn't exactly proud of the curb stomping he'd laid down on the tubby mechanic, but he'd had cause for his actions at the time.

Veronica waved a hand dismissively at him. "Please. Where have you been all year? Recovering cell phones is like, my thing. No sweat."

Weevil raised his eyebrow. "Is that what you told Carmen last year?"

"Ouch. Okay. That one bit me in the ass, but I'll have you know my planning skills are much better now. Also? I have more accomplices." She nodded firmly.

A shrug was his response. "Whatever. We've got more important things to worry about."

Veronica looked away, thinking. "Can you find an excuse to talk to Molly? Doesn't matter about what. Just to buy you some time to plant a little gadget on her?" She still owed the other blond one for calling her out in the middle of the River Styx. The teen sleuth still got the heebie-jeebies whenever she thought of just how close she'd come to getting her face messed up with a tattoo needle by Liam Fitzpatrick.

The youth nodded slowly. "Yeah. I can do that."

A brilliant smile. "Alright. Plans are underway. Gears are in motion," she glanced at her wristwatch. "Classes are about to start. Gotta jet."

* * *

Lunch time rolled around, and Veronica went to her usual table. Wallace and Jane were already seated, acting cute and couple-like. As fond as she was of the pair, sometimes they made her want to scream. Or vomit. Or vomit while screaming.

"You know what I'm grateful for? That the theme for the spring dance isn't a crazy costumed fling, like last year's. It must've taken a week to get all the Aquanet out of my hair." Jane poked experimentally at the contents of her cafeteria tray, giggling.

"You should've seen my girl here. Hair all crimped, wearing the black lace, early-Madonna thing. It was pretty funny looking," Wallace pointed at his best friend, as the blond girl settled down at the table.

"Very funny, Super Fly. I seem to recall _someone_ there was dressed up as DJ Jazzy Jeff," she shot back meaningfully.

Jane started laughing. "I couldn't get over those pants! Where did you find something that intensely neon?"

"I do admit, the mid eighties was not a good fashion decade for my people." Wallace was just reaching over to steal Jane's brownie, when an angry, raised voice rang out through the quad.

"-no, I LOVED HIM!"

Veronica couldn't help but wince. As far as subtlety went, this was not the best idea that Weevil had ever had. But as she turned to look at him, slamming his fist down on Molly Fitzpatrick's lunch table, she couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. What it lacked in sneakiness, it more than made up for in genuine emotion. Another moment, and the angry Mexican youth stormed off towards the parking lot.

At her table, Molly hesitantly reached towards the gift he'd left behind. By the look of things, she was trying not to cry. Her bottom lip trembled as she pulled the yellow toy semi-truck closer to her.

It didn't happen often, but Veronica Mars was impressed. Hopefully, the bug Weevil had planted in the thing would give them something they could use, and soon. She didn't trust her friend's patience.

Her expression turned contemplative as she reached for her cell. Before they could turn anything over to the cops, she was going to have to get that video from Thumper. And despite her confident words earlier, she wasn't sure how to do that yet. They didn't share any classes, and she was pretty conspicuous at all of the PCH hangouts. Besides, she really didn't want Thumper to think she was involved. Back when Weevil ran the PCH, the worst she could expect from pissing them off was to have her car stolen, or maybe some property damage. Their new leadership had turned them a lot more violent, and a lot more ruthless. A chill ran down her spine as she dialed.

* * *

The insistent ringing of her Blackberry penetrated the fog of Faith's sleep. An arm emerged from her cocoon of blankets as she flailed around at the bedside table of her motel room. She groaned.

"Yeah?" she growled. She'd been asleep for maybe two hours at this point. After following Veronica and Logan on their stakeout, the Slayer had done a patrol of the bars and clubs on the less prosperous side of town. Nothing major had happened, maybe a handful of vamps, but it still had kept her out until sunrise. Then there were some calls to check in with the Cleveland crew and the AI gang, which took most of the morning. Being a Slayer meant that she didn't need much rest, but still. She was not a morning person.

"Are you still asleep? It's almost one!" Veronica's voice was way to perky to deal with.

"Ugh. Yeah." Faith rolled over, scrubbing her face with one hand. "What's up?"

"I thought you Army types were all about getting up at zero dark for PT," the younger woman teased.

"That's only on days when I'm actually in bed before zero dark, V." Looked like Keith Mars had been a busy boy last night. The toughest part of maintaining the fake story Willow had set up for her was trying to keep all the military jargon straight in her head. "What can I do for you?"

"Were you serious about trading favors and helping out? Because if you were, I could use a hand."

"Sure," Faith grinned. "I'm down for that. There's not a lot to do in this 'burgh."

"Great. School lets out at three. Can you meet me at the office at say, four thirty?" Veronica paused in the hallway, before going in to her next class. Last thing she needed was to get her phone confiscated.

"Be there with bells on, and shit." Faith glanced at the clock. "See ya in a few."

"Thanks."

Call ended, the brunette stretched before reaching for her robe. Time for a long shower, and a stop at a diner for some grub. Maybe a case of energy drinks.

Damn, she was sleepy.


	4. Mira La Chica

The club was crowded, even for a Friday night. It was crowded enough that Weevil could hang back and nurse his beer on the balcony without having to worry about being spotted. Hector, Thumper, Oscár, and the rest of the older PCH boys were at their usual table downstairs, knocking back shots and making their presence felt. The music, a pulse-pounding mix of west coast hip hop backed with Latin beats, made any casual conversations almost impossible.

He'd had a bad feeling about tonight, ever since Veronica had called him up, asking where Thumper hung out when he wanted to relax.

"_I need someplace where a girl can get pretty up close and personal with him... well, and keep her clothes on at the same time, so don't tell me it's The Seventh Veil." Those had been her exact words. _

Weevil didn't know what she had planned, but _chica_ was crazy if she thought the PCHers didn't all know her on sight. That why he was here. There wasn't much he could do, eight on one, but if they started something violent with V, he would try to get her back out in one piece. If the blond got roughed up helping him out, Sheriff Mars would lose his shit.

He laughed at himself, and took another swig of his Dos Equis. It was hard to admit, even to himself, that Veronica Mars – intrepid detective and vicious bitch – was the closest thing he had to a friend. That's why he was here. He didn't want her to get hurt. PCH played rougher than ever, now that he couldn't run herd on them.

Another scan of the lower floor didn't turn up any blonds. Thumper, however, was dancing with some hot little brunette. Dancing really wasn't the word for it. The way she was winding and grinding around him, it looked like something off Skinemax. Girl had clearly clocked some time on a pole somewhere.

It was hard to tear his gaze away. She was wearing tight leather pants, and some kind of sparkly red top that wasn't much more than a napkin held on with string. He couldn't be sure from this distance, but he thought he spotted some ink on her, too. There was nothing sexier than a girl with tattoos.

Too bad the chic was all over Thumper like a cheap suit. Shame something so fine had such shitty taste in men.

Another couple hours passed, in which Weevil watched the hot chick dance non-stop. Sometimes she had a partner, but there wasn't a single guy out there that could keep up with her energy. He smirked, thinking about the kind of stamina she must have to pull that off.

"Nice."

He still hadn't spotted Veronica, which he considered to be a good thing. Looking around again, he realized that the PCH had left the building. His wristwatch told him that it was almost last call, and Weevil was supposed to work at his uncle's garage in the morning. The last swallow of beer went down his throat, and he headed out the door.

The back of his neck prickled, as he left the noise and light of the club for the dimly lit parking lot. This was a good place to get jumped, if any of his former boys had noticed him. He'd parked out of the way, since his ride was pretty distinctive, but now all that meant was a long walk through the dark in a bad neighborhood. Weevil could handle himself, but a fight really wasn't how he wanted to end the night.

He heard a footstep behind him, and tensed. Before he could turn around, a familiar voice whispered to him.

"Hey, hottie. Lookin' for me?" Veronica smiled winningly, lengthening her stride to catch up to her friend.

Weevil let his breath out in a rush, then took a closer look at her, blinking. A short, dark wig covered her hair, and she was wearing some shorts that barely covered her _concha_. She had on fishnets and knee-high boots, and looked nothing like herself.

"Damn, V." His familiar leer wandered over her from head to toe. "If I knew you were that hard up for money, I'da taken you seriously when you asked for a fifty earlier. 'Course, I might've asked you to earn it..." He hitched his belt, fighting to keep a straight face.

"Funny, Weevs." Her head tilted to one side. "I thought I _had_ earned it. You know. Getting Thumper's phone for you." She crossed her arms over her chest, pretending to be annoyed.

Weevil's eyes widened. "Please tell me you weren't in there, _chica_. Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? You're good, V, but you're not _that_ good. If those guys had gotten their hands on you, they'd have pounded you into the ground like a tent peg." Nervous eyes flicked over the parking lot. "On that note, we should probably not be discussing this here. Where's your car?"

"Oh, I didn't drive," Veronica grinned wickedly. In a way, she thought it was cute that Weevil was concerned with her safety. Theirs might not be a traditional friendship, but they had each others' backs when it counted. And she was looking forward to the next few moments.

"You didn't?" his brow furrowed.

"No, I did." A husky, feminine voice came out of the darkness.

Weevil jumped, and put himself between Veronica and the newcomer. His eyes almost popped out of his head when he realized it was the smokin' brunette from the dance floor.

"Gotta say, man, your eyes have been burning me all night," Faith couldn't help but laugh. She slung her coat on, using one hand to pull her hair into a messy bun.

The young man could only look back and forth between the girls, incomprehension on his face.

"Weevil, Faith. Faith, Weevil," Veronica introduced helpfully. Turning her attention to the Slayer, she continued, "and did you get it?"

Raising an eyebrow, the brunette produced a flip phone, seemingly out of nowhere. "You doubted? I lifted it about five minutes in."

"What? You've been shaking your groove thang for hours! I have an eight o'clock shift at the Hut in the morning!" Veronica sputtered.

Faith shrugged. "Hey, I told you I didn't need you here. Besides," she let her gaze flick over Weevil's muscles, "I like to dance."

"Always take backup. That's what my dad says."

"Isn't Backup your dog's name?" Weevil cut in, feeling like he was missing large parts of what was going on. "And what the hell?"

The blond gave him a look that spoke volumes. "Faith, Weevil. Weevil, Faith," she repeated slowly, as if to a small, slow, child.

"Yeah, I caught that, _cabrona_. Don't be a pain in my ass," he glared.

"_Guarda tu boca, por coño_ ," Faith snapped, which started an argument in Spanish.

"You know, I do understand you." Veronica was getting a little annoyed. Both parties broke off their vulgarities and looked at her. Faith had the grace to look a little embarrassed.

"Sorry, V." She looked at Weevil, then at their surroundings. "This probably isn't the best place for all this. Is there a diner, or something where we can get some food? I'm starving."

"And someone will make with the explanations?" the ex-biker added. Twin nods answered him. "Great. There's a Denny's about two miles up I-75, towards town. Either of you need a ride?"

"Up to you, V," Faith replied. "I'll follow."

Veronica grinned. "It may be colder, but your way is hella more fun. We'll follow you out."

Weevil gave her a little salute, and moved to unlock his car. When he looked back, the girls were gone.

The whole drive to the restaurant, he couldn't see another car behind him, but he assumed that the girls would figure something out. Worst case, they'd call if they needed better directions.

The Denny's lot was brightly lit, and well-populated. Truckers and drunks love 24 hour breakfast specials.

The sound of a motorcycle pulled him from his thoughts as he was exiting his vehicle. On guard, he looked around. The PCHers weren't the only people in town who rode on two wheels, but he felt he had reason to be paranoid.

For the second time that night, his fears were unjustified as Faith pulled up, Veronica riding behind her on a dark red Minos Prostreet. His jaw dropped. Never mind that the blond was wearing Faith's jacket, and her helmet. Weevil saw that bike, and he fell in love.

"That's a Santiago Chopper custom," he blurted out, as Faith killed the engine.

"Yup," she replied easily.

Veronica dismounted and removed the helmet, hooking it on a handlebar as the brunette threw open the right saddlebag.

"That's a $65,000 bike." It was like he was stuck, brain unable to grasp the reality of this beautiful machine.

"Hey!" she exclaimed. "It's not a bike. It's a chopper." Straightening, she tossed a pair of jeans at Veronica. "You might want to put these on. Lotta truckers in there, don't want them making the same mistake that _cholo_ here made earlier."

"Dude!" Veronica laughed, "they're you're clothes!"

"Yeah, well, doesn't make it any less true." Faith turned towards Weevil. He was still staring at the motorcycle.

"Weevil?" She almost sounded worried, when he didn't respond immediately. "Breakfast. You coming?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I am." He didn't so much as twitch.

Veronica and Faith exchanged amused glances.

"And after breakfast, we thought you might want to join us for some hot threesome action," the blond detective joked. If that didn't get his attention...

"Wait. What?" Weevil's head whipped around, a startled look on his face.

Faith, at this point, was all about messing with him. She stood a little too close to Veronica, and let her hand linger on the other girl's shoulder just a little too long.

"You're leaving drool on my paint job." She hitched her chin towards the door. "Me and V are gonna go get some grub. You can join us, or you can stay out here, touchin' yourself, as long as you don't get any jizz on my baby."

Weevil almost blushed, and was the first one in the door.

By the time Veronica returned from changing in the restroom, the waitress was ready for them to order.

"Two Lumberjack Slams, and a French Toast Slam. Scramble the eggs, hash browns instead of grits, and I like my bacon crispy. Orange juice to drink, and keep 'em coming." Faith glanced at the teens. "You guys want anything?"

"Ultimate Omelet. Coffee."

"Belgian waffles, and chocolate milk, please." Veronica slid into the booth next to the brunette, bumping shoulders companionably. "Thanks, sugarlips."

"I'll get it out of you," Faith winked.

"Uh... so how come I never heard of your joining the Sapphic side of life?" At this point, Weevil's eyebrows were threatening to fly completely off his forehead.

Veronica gave him her most earnest expression. "It was all so sudden. I mean, I'd been curious for a while – really, who hasn't been- when I met Faith here."

"Yeah, man. We hooked up on , and it was love at first sight," the brunette joked, sliding an arm around the other girl.

Weevil just stared for a long moment, then broke out into laughter. "That threesome offer still good? 'Cause I gotta say, V. She's a step up from Echolls."

A wadded up napkin bounced off his head, and the girls settled back into less couple-friendly positions on their side of the booth.

"I actually work for a detective agency in LA. I'm in town on a case of my own, hooked up with the Mars', and V asked me to help her out tonight." She flashed her dimples. "I'm good with undercover work."

"I noticed. If you don't mind my askin'... where did you hide the phone?" Weevil made a show of blatantly checking out her skin-baring club outfit.

"Trade secret," she returned his look with interest.

"Not to bust up this little session of the mutual admiration society, but do either of you know how to tell if that video has been sent anywhere?" Veronica interjected.

"I have people for that. Gimme my coat," Faith reached into the pocket of the jacket as the blond shrugged out of it. The Slayer produced Thumper's phone again, and her own PDA. "This'll just take a minute."

Weevil and Veronica watched with interest as their table companion hit a speed dial key, and held the Blackberry to her ear.

"Hey Willow!... Oh good, I didn't wake your ass up... nah, I'm back out in Cali. So you can take your sunrise-breakfast-on-the-beach and shove it. I could do that, too, if I wanted."

There was a long pause, then Faith laughed. "Tell Ken I'm sorry. Look, I need a quick favor. Nothing major," she glanced at the teens, "just some of that techno-voodoo you do so well."

She rose from the table, taking the conversation and both phones outside. If Willow actually needed to make some long-distance magic from Rio, Faith really didn't want the nosy teen and her stud muffin client to see.

"So," Weevil looked at Veronica. "She's a detective? Like your dad?"

"Pretty much. Don't tell him, but, she makes it look a lot more bad-ass." She fidgeted, tugging her low cut top, trying to get it to cover more of her chest. "But these outfits of hers? Really not my style."

"I dunno, V," he quirked a brow. "If the point is to make a guy focus on your rack, and not the fact that you're grillin' him for information, I'd say it works."

Veronica pulled a face. "I think I'd need a little more cleavage for that."

"Don't sell yourself short. My uncle always used to say that more'n a handful's a waste." White teeth flashed across his tanned face.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

Faith's return coincided with the arrival of their food, saving her from having to think of a witty retort. Plate after plate was set on the table, taking up all of the space. The brunette started combining plates – eggs, breakfast meats, hash browns – and stacking the empties to give them all a little more room.

Once the server was gone, Weevil turned his incredulous gaze back to Faith. "You really gonna eat all that?"

"What can I say? I have a kick-ass metabolism." She stuck her elbows firmly on the table, picked up a fork, and started making serious inroads to the piles of food.

"Jealous," Veronica teased. "Any luck?"

Weevil just shook his head and added some creamer to his coffee.

"Yeah," Faith replied around a mouthful of bacon, "the only copy of the video was on the phone. It hadn't been sent anywhere or saved to the network. Stupid, if you ask me." She swallowed, reaching for her orange juice. "Must be a first time blackmailer."

"The collective IQ of the PCH took a serious hit once they started dealing with the Fitzpatrick's," Veronica offered.

"And let's do discuss all sorts of private business out here in public," Weevil scowled.

The blond made a big show of looking around at their neighboring tables. The only person remotely in earshot was a hairy guy in a trucker hat who looked like he was passed out in his booth.

"Fine. Okay, Faith, I guess you should know that I used to be part of a local 'bike club'" Weevil began, using his fingers like quotation marks.

The brunette waved a hand at him, setting down her glass. "You're Eli Navarro, born November 8, 1986, leader of the Pacific Coast Highway bike club from 2004 to February of this year. Despite multiple arrests, you've spent a total of like, fifteen minutes in juvie. You currently drive a 1965 Impala, lime green. Nice choice, by the way."

Weevil was slack-jawed again. This was getting to be some kind of a habit around this chick.

"Hey, I work a case, I check out the players," she gestured at him with her fork, before returning her attention to her eggs.

"All that work because I asked you for a favor?" Veronica blurted out.

"Well," Faith temporized, "not really. As one of the people close to Lilly Kane before she died, he's a person of interest on my case, too. Seemed like as good of a way as any to meet him. Also," she dimpled, "maybe now he'll be willing to answer some questions. Seeing as I just did him a favor."

"You're checking into Lilly's murder?" Weevil asked suspiciously. "Hasn't it been solved? Twice?"

"Faith's client hired her to keep an eye on the trial. Make sure it's kosher. I guess that someone wants to make extra sure that the right man was arrested this time," Veronica explained.

"Pretty much."

The ex-biker settled back in his seat, apparently mollified for the moment. "So you wanna ask questions now?"

"Nah. Not while I'm eating. I'll call you, though. Then it'll be just you and me, and some of my infamous interrogation techniques." Faith winked. It was hard to look sexy while putting it away like a linebacker, but she managed. Barely.

"When you say it like that, it sounds so... tawdry." Veronica grimaced.

Weevil chuckled. "I think that was the point, V."

He looked over at Faith, using his long eyelashes to his best advantage. "Don't expect me to wait by the phone for it to ring, but sure. Name the time and place. And maybe I'll be askin' a few questions of my own."

The blond looked back and forth between her table companions. There was some undeniable sparkage going on here.

"I'd tell you to get a room, but then who would drive me home?" the blond complained. She looked back and forth between her table companions. There was some undeniable sparkage going on here.


	5. Habla Me

Outside of the Neptune sheriff's office, Faith leaned against a lamp post, cigarette in hand. Her pose was deceptively casual, smoke trailing upwards to wreath her face, as she took a long drag. It was getting on towards evening, and she was waiting for Veronica and Weevil. On the one hand, she hoped this didn't take too long, because regardless of witchy slate-clearing, courtesy of Willow, cops made her nervous. On the other hand, the longer this took, the more seriously that bozo Lamb was taking their evidence.

Earlier that day, after the blond had gotten off from work at Java the Hut, they had gotten a chance to listen to recordings made of the Fitzpatricks. Apparently, Molly had been carrying the little yellow truck around with her constantly, which was great for the investigation. Even better was the fact that Liam Fitzpatrick practically confessed to orchestrating Felix's stabbing, and Veronica had it on tape.

That's where the two were now. Inside, giving the tape to Sheriff Lamb, asking him to do something about it.

Faith was just debating whether she should start a game of Tetris on her PDA, when the two teens came storming angrily out the front doors.

"You know, an 09er could come in here with tea leaves and a Ouija board and they'd send out a SWAT team," Weevil growled, violently pulling on a pair of leather gloves. "It's time for Plan B."

"Not just yet, Dirty Harry." Veronica lengthened her strides to keep up with him.

"In case you haven't noticed, I ain't no mick cop," he spat, his face set in an angry mask.

"Uh...okay. Dirty Sanchez? Just give me a few more hours, there's a woman I can talk to, and luck might be a lady tonight." It just seemed like no matter how serious the situation was, the teen couldn't stop herself from trying to lighten the moment.

Weevil was not in the mood to be placated. "Patience ain't one of my virtues, Veronica."

Flicking her cigarette to the ground, Faith crushed it under her boot as she jogged over to her friends. "Hey," she began.

"Thanks for your help and all, but I've got it from here," the ex-biker said through clenched teeth.

"What happened?" the Slayer asked, cocking her head.

"Lamb is a dick," Veronica replied shortly, "and Weevil has decided it's time for street justice."

The Mexican in question rolled his eyes, and made to step around the brunette.

She grabbed his arm, a look of disbelief on her face. "So, what, you're not even going to give V a chance to do this another way? You're gonna go try to kill this guy?"

"The less you know, the less you and Blondie have to deny." He tried to shake off her hand, but she just tightened her grip on his coat.

"Oh, right. Like when Thumper goes missing, or turns up with his head bashed in with a tire iron, they're never going to think you did it. Twenty four hours, Weevs. That's all I'm asking," Faith tried reasoning.

"Take your hand off me. I'm tired of being goddamn _patient_." The word came out like a curse.

Veronica pulled in on herself, hoping that the bounty hunter could talk him down. Most days, it was easy to forget that Weevil wasn't all soft and fuzzy. Most days, she didn't believe him to be capable of murder. Today, though... today, she could see through the innuendo, the bravado, and the attitude. Today she could see that Eli Navarro was a dangerous man.

"Fine," Faith raised her hands in surrender. "Enjoy your last impulsive decision for the next twenty years. Because when you're stuck in an eight by twelve foot cage, waiting for the buzzer to sound so you can enjoy your thirty minute constitutional with a bunch of mothers who are badder than you ever dreamed of being, you'll have no damn choice but to be _patient_." Her eyes caught and held his, challenging him, demanding more from him.

His jaw clenched. The vein in his forehead throbbed. In the end, it was Weevil who looked away first.

"I'm not built for this," he bit out.

"But you can learn. And when Thumper screws up – which, being a total brain trust, he will – we'll be there to catch him. Then it'll be him sharing the community soap." Faith's words softened,

"I want him to pay." Weevil's fists were clenching rhythmically, his shoulders tense, though his voice had less edge to it than before.

"He will. I promise. But it's up to you if it's going to be justice, or revenge. Trust me, one will cost you more than the other."

When Faith put her hand on his arm again, he didn't try to shake her off. She took a deep breath and forced a smile, continuing in a much lighter tone.

"Now how about we go out, get a couple of brews, and talk about something that has absolutely no bad memories attached, eh?"she hooked her arm around his shoulder, and beckoned to the blond was trying to disappear against the side of the building. "Veronica can tell us about, I dunno, her first kiss. You can tell us all about something embarrassing or badass that you've done in the past, and I," she placed a hand on her chest with an air of importance, "will tell you about this skip I chased down in Missouri, who kept pet alligators. Which I had to wrassle, mind you. _Wrassle_."

Weevil was very still for a long moment, then visibly forced himself to relax. A faint shadow of his cocky grin appeared. "Only if you're buying, _chica_."

"Sounds fair to me. You with us, V?" Faith looked back at the other girl.

Veronica couldn't keep the look of relief off her face, and nodded. "If you two are drinking, I'll be the DD."

Weevil pointed a suspicious finger at her. "You are not touching my car."

"Or my chopper," Faith jumped in.

"So I guess we'll be taking ze LeBaron," the blond put on French accent for the last two words, jingling her keys. "Where to, my underage compatriots?"

"Anywhere, as long as they've got Sammy on tap," the Slayer declared.

"Shotgun," Weevil raised his hand briefly.

"Aw," Faith pouted at him. "I was gonna suggest, if Blondie's gonna be our chauffeur, you and I could make out in the backseat like a couple kids on prom night." She arched a delicate eyebrow at him.

Veronica choked.

"Damn. Am I too late to take that option?" the ex-biker pleaded.

"Yup," she popped her 'p'. "But ask again once I've had a few," Faith winked.

Weevil looked at Veronica. "Does it make me a sad individual that the offer kinda cheers me up?"

"Yes," she replied, unlocking her car door. "But it also makes you male."

* * *

Moon rise found the trio, not at any bar, but on the back porch of Weevil's house. The grass in the tiny yard was mostly dead, a handful of toys strewn across the lot. The ocean couldn't be seen from this house. It couldn't be heard. The only scent in the air was insect-repelling citronella. Nevertheless, a light breeze kept the night from being oppressively warm.

Faith perched on the wooden stairs, and bumped her shoulder companionably against Weevil's. Veronica sprawled a few feet away on an old-fashioned porch swing.

"Alright," Weevil spoke into the silence. "What do you do for fun?"

The girls both looked at him like he was crazy, but Faith spoke first.

"Are you saying this isn't fun?"

"Topics of conversation with no 'sad' strings attached don't just grow on trees, dumbass." He scowled briefly.

"We could talk about dads? My dad is pretty cool," Veronica tried.

"My dad could kick all of our asses with one hand tied behind his back, after running twenty miles in the rain. Uphill," Faith traced a line of condensation on her open bottle of beer. It was only half of a lie. Sergeant Jack Herrera really could do all of those things. He just wasn't her father.

"Yeah, well, my dad got shanked in Chino when he was doin' a nickel for movin' stolen cars. It was a lovely funeral. Next." Weevil finished off his bottle, refusing to make eye contact.

"I like to take pictures," Veronica blurted. "That's pretty much what I do for fun. Not, like, incriminating, case-solving photos. Like, interesting flowers, or weird trash piles. Corny's art. Some of that stuff looks great at the right angles."

"You know what I don't like? Fixing cars," Weevil laughed, a sound with little humor in it. "I know how, and I'm good at it... but it's not fun."

"Tai Chi," Faith spoke unexpectedly.

"Bless you."

"No, _retrasado_, Tai Chi. It's martial arts, slowed down. You go through the forms, and it helps you to center yourself. I wouldn't call it fun, exactly... I used to think it was boring, you know? When my watch-" Faith broke off with a cough. "-father taught me, I was like, twelve. All I could think was that I wanted to learn kung fu, you know? High kicks and ass beating." She laughed, shaking her head. "Now... I guess I find it reassuring. Each movement has meaning, like meditation or something. I do it every morning, now." The brunette trailed off, tucking one hand under her chin. It was like she realized she had revealed more than intended.

"Can I see?" Veronica sounded alive with curiousity.

"It's kinda boring, like I said." Faith sounded strangely vulnerable at that moment.

"So show us something neat. Something not-boring," Weevil demanded. In reality, he was curious about Tai Chi, but he didn't want to push it. The brunette was so outwardly tough, so flippant that he savored the glimpses he got of the girl behind the mask. He knew what it was like, to put on a character day after day, until it stopped being an act. Yeah, he knew a little something about that.

A small nod was her reply. Standing abruptly, Faith set down her nearly empty beer, and crossed to the other side of the yard. Jokingly, she planted her hands on her hips.

"Ready? Okay." With that, she pushed forward into a short, energetic tumbling run that ended in a full twisting layout. She landed less than a foot from the stairs, and flashed her biggest smile. "Was that not-boring enough?"

"I'll drink to that," Weevil raised his bottle in her direction.

"That was incredible!" Veronica gushed. The blond teen was on her second drink, and starting to feel the buzz.

Faith snorted, snagged a fresh beer from the cooler, and sat back down. "Strength, balance, and agility. That's why I got to do the whole gymnastics thing. This body is a finely honed machine," she joked.

"I dunno about the machine part, but it looks fine enough from here," Weevil teased.

"So, do you ever get tired of playing up the whole, horny Mexican thing?" Faith asked sarcastically.

"Do you ever get tired of being a bitch?" he shot back.

She laughed. "No, not really."

"Then there you go." He flashed his pearly whites.

Once again, as soon as the joke was over, the atmosphere fell flat.

"God," Veronica blurted out, "why do we suck so much? Why is talking hard?"

"The more I try not thinkin' about something that pisses me off or depresses me, the more I end up thinking about it." Weevil looked down at his knuckles, inspecting a bruise there. "And trying to talk about something that has 'no bad memories' attached? I dunno what kind of Stepford life either of you had, but I don't got a lot of those. And most of those aren't something I'm down with sharing."

"Okay. This is all my fault," Faith agreed, taking a drink. "Never should have said it."

"Nope," Veronica said sympathetically. The buzz was still alive and well. "Oh! Let's just go for it then!"

"What?" Weevil cocked his head at the blond.

"We're already drunk, pissed, and sad... so let's just do it! Talk about the most enraging thing ever. Lilly." There was a bit of an angry light in Veronica's eyes.

Faith was visibly taken aback. "Uh, I don't know if that's such a great idea right now..."

"Oh, c'mon. You have questions, we have answers, and this way, we can get all of the feeling like crap out of the way." The teen sleuth was clearly serious.

"Was it just me, or did Lilly become a huge bitch that summer?" Weevil interjected suddenly.

"You mean, more huge than normal?" Veronica snorted. "Yeah. Not just you."

Faith glanced between the two of them, cautious. "How long were you two... involved?" she asked.

"Eight months," he replied.

"Wow," the blond blinked. "I thought it was a lot less than that."

The ex-biker laughed. "If there was one thing that Lils was good at, it was keeping secrets. Well, and she would do this thing with her tongue..." he joked, a far away look in his eyes.

Veronica pulled off her sandal and threw it at his head.

* * *

The next day found Faith doing push ups on her motel room floor. The muscles in her shoulders flexed under her white wife beater, her breath coming out in rhythmic pants. Inside her head, she could almost hear Sarge urging her on:

"_C'mon, girlie," the ex-Ranger scoffed, as he lay on the ground next to her, matching her in speed. "You getting' tired yet? Huh? 'Cause if a forty year old officer can keep up with a Slayer, then she's not trying hard enough. Now PUSH!"_

A weird smile on her lips, Faith switched to one-armed. She was just starting to accelerate, sweat beading on her forehead, when her phone rang. Grumbling, she sprang to her feet to answer.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, it's Angel," came the voice at the other end.

"What's up, dude? You got something for me?" Faith grabbed a hand towel, and mopped at her neck.

"I've got a name. Priscilla Banks. I found a property record for her right in Neptune. You're still there, right?" the broody champion replied.

"So Lorne was right? You think this chick can help Cordy?" Faith was stunned. When the empathically gifted demon had told her that someone in Neptune might be able to help Cordelia, she had decided not to get her hopes up. After all, the former cheerleader turned Seer had been in a coma for almost three years.

"I don't know. But this is the first lead we've had for a long time, and I want you to follow up for me. The address is 4531 Chandler Road." Angel's voice sounded hopeful.

"4531 Chandler. Got it. Keep holdin' down the fort, Fang. I'll check in soon." The brunette disconnected, and looked around the room. Tossing her PDA on the bed, she got back down on the floor to finish her reps. "I have got to find some gym equipment in this town. Or someone's ass to kick. Maybe both," she muttered to herself. She was going stir crazy.


	6. Soy

**AN: So between life, work, and classes, I'm probably not going to be able to keep doing the crazed-weasel, almost-daily updates. Rather than spend every free minute writing, I'm having to do annoying things like work on projects for school. But I promise to try to not leave anyone hanging for longer than a week or so at a time. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, it really makes my day.**

**Another thing. Following the outline I've come up with, I can either make this into a trilogy with 12 or so chapters each, or one big 30+ chapter story. If anyone has an opinion on the subject, I'd appreciate the feedback. -Jo**

* * *

"Thank you for calling the Strongsville School for Girls. How may I direct your call?" a professional voice answered after three rings.

"It's Faith. Can you put me through to Giles, or is he teaching?" It seemed like she spent half of her life on the phone, any more. Good thing she had unlimited calling. She tucked her wireless ear piece into place, and picked up a jar of Turtlewax. Every three days, she washed and waxed her motorcycle. Today was that day.

"I'll see if Mr. Giles is available." The voice turned decidedly frosty. "One moment."

The Girl from Ipanema had been playing for close to ten minutes on a loop, and the Slayer was about to tear her hair out by the roots, when Rupert Giles picked up on his end.

"Took you long enough, G," Faith snarked, putting a little extra energy into her movements.

"Beg pardon. You were patched straight through to my office," the British Watcher objected.

"I was on hold for like, fifteen minutes," she disagreed. She was unamused when Giles choked on a laugh. "What gives?"

"Do you remember that debacle with the Khandi of Baltsa'haar?" he inquired.

"Kinda hard not to. Point?" A speck of dirt was flicked off her fender, as she relentlessly polished the chrome finish.

"Christine has seven tattoos of the characters from Alice in Wonderland. She considers Lewis Carrol to be a god. The fact that you were responsible for a first edition of his book to be burned... Well. You're not her favorite person." The sound of papers being shuffled carried clearly over the line.

"So she's going to torment me with muzak. Oh, the humanity," the brunette let her sarcastic voice out to play. "On to the reason I called. I'm about ninety percent sure that Lilly Kane was a Slayer. I'm not sure how to get that last ten percent of proof."

"Good Lord," Giles exclaimed. "We were right?"

"I've had a chance to recreate her schedule and actions for the four to five months before she died – from the day we closed the Hellmouth, to the day she died. I've spoken at length with some people that were close to her. They all noted changes in her habits and personality. She slept a lot less, ate a lot more, had more energy, was more aggressive and abrasive, spent a lot of time sneaking out and getting into trouble..." Faith paused, then plowed forward. "Her sex drive increased almost exponentially. And this girl was not known for going to church, if you know what I mean. She was seeing at least three guys, and the two I've had a chance to ask about it both basically admitted that it was a challenge to keep up with her in bedroom."

"And the third?"

"He's currently awaiting trial for killing her. Single blow to the head with a glass ashtray." Faith scowled.

"Damn." If a Slayer survived the initial injury, she could bounce back from just about anything. But Slayer healing wasn't instantaneous. And apparently, Lilly Kane's death was.

"She was bangin' her boyfriend's dad, G. This chick was not nice people. Stop with the pity party."

"I'll be sure to let all of the 'not nice people' of the world know that they deserved to be killed for their indiscretions. By the way, Faith? I suppose that means I have something to tell you." Giles was clearly irritated with her.

Faith flinched. "I'll call you back when I have more information."

"Wait, Faith-"

She didn't wait to hear the rest of what the Watcher had to say. The brunette took out her ear piece, and powered down her phone. Glancing at the clock, she saw that she still had a few hours before Weevil was supposed to pick her up to stake out the Priscilla Banks address she'd gotten from Angel. That was plenty of time to run twenty or thirty miles, if she took it easy.

* * *

Veronica looked like hell. Pasty skin, stringy hair, circles under her eyes. It wasn't enough that she was dealing with cases at school and at the office. It wasn't enough that she had the Aaron Echolls murder trial coming up just next month – during finals, no less. It still wasn't enough that she'd spent the last weeks dreaming of the kids that had died in the bus crash.

No. On top of all that, the alternator in her LeBaron had died. If she had been anyone other than Veronica Mars, she would have cried. As it was, she called in one of her excused absences with Clemmons, and sat down to skip the otherwise unremarkable Tuesday with trashy daytime drama and a pint of Häagen-Dazs. Nothing could make this day better.

Three hours later, she changed her mind. The day was improving. A little. Clarence Weidman had finally gotten back to her about the DNA on the Oscar statue, and the identity of the two goons found trespassing on the Kane estate a few weeks back. The kicker? Hair and blood on the Oscar statuette was a match to both Lilly and Duncan Kane. Now all she needed to do was figure out why on earth the Fitzpatricks were trying to plant evidence that implicated her ex-boyfriend in her best friend's murder. Their involvement made no sense, unless it was some kind of a business arrangement. One more thing to worry about.

That, and Weidman had asked her to arrange a face-to-face with Faith.

* * *

"Taco Bell," Weevil said incredulously, taking one hand off the steering wheel. "We're less than forty miles from the Mexican border, with at least eight amazing _taquer__ì__as_ in a ten minute walk, and you want Taco Bell. I'm sorry. I can't let you do that to my people."

"Yeah, well, I can't get a ten pound sack of soft tacos in under five minutes, unless we make a run for the Border, and not in the literal sense." Faith narrowed her eyes, poking her abdomen. "Hungry. Now."

"Ten pounds of tacos. That's what, fifty of the suckers? You're that hungry?" Weevil knew better than to ask if she'd eat them all. He'd shared more than one meal with the brunette in the past week, and if there was one thing he'd come to realize, it was that he should never, ever, offer to pick up the check.

"And you say you're bad at math. Seriously, _vato_, if you don't move towards grub in the next twenty seconds, I'm going to start eating the upholstery." She settled back into the front seat of his car.

"Okay, okay. Lots of food. Little time. Got it."

Half an hour later, Weevil was still picking at his fast food burrito, when Faith wadded up her last wrapper and tossed it over her shoulder.

"Hey! Stop trashing my car! I just had it detailed," he complained.

"You really didn't have to come along. I'm pretty sure that nothing is going to happen. Again. Just like the last three nights. Whole lot of nobody home."

"What else am I going to do? My uncle doesn't need me at the garage right now, and I'm a little short on friends at the mo'. Besides, what'll you do if it starts raining? Stakeouts on your bike have got to suck in bad weather." Weevil shrugged, reaching for his soda. It just so happened that he was telling the truth.

The brunette chuckled shortly. "Oh, you have no idea. But still, I love the damn thing. When I'm chasing skips up North, especially in the winter time, I have a truck I drive instead," she glanced over. "It's very macho. Lots of horsepower. But I pretty much prefer to stay where I can drive my baby year round, even if it means I never see snow again."

"You grew up in Florida, right? Not a lot of snow there," he leaned back.

"Right. Florida. My dad was a teacher at Admiral Farragut Academy down in St. Petersburg." Faith recited the information by rote.

"Was?" Weevil watched her out of the corner of his eye. He thought it was weird, they way she always shut down when talking about her past sometimes. Some stories, she could tell with wild gestures and big smiles. Other topics, it was like she was reading a phone book, for all the animation she had.

"He moved to Cleveland a few years ago. Now he teaches at a private, all-girl's school there. Gym and Self-Defense." It always made Faith vaguely uncomfortable to talk about Sarge. According to Willow's faked legal documents, he was her father. In reality, they had only met a few years ago, when she was tracking the demons who killed his actual daughter.

"You still see him?" he asked casually.

"Once a year. Every Christmas we get together during his break, and we go do wilderness survival stuff. Find the baddest stretch of territory we can afford to get to, and stay there for a few weeks with like, a bowie knife, a canteen, and a lighter. He loves that shit." The brunette smiled slightly. It was part of his employment contract with the New Reformed Watcher's Council. This past Christmas they'd spent sixteen days in the middle of the Australian bush.

"That sounds like a good time." Weevil was clearly lying.

"I know, I know. We're out of our minds," Faith laughed. "It sucks when you're hot and thirsty, and there's something howling off in the distance, and it's a hundred klicks to the next place with a roof." She shrugged, meeting his eyes. "But thanks to Sarge and my other teachers, I know exactly what I can and can't do. I can take just about anybody in a fight. If I get kidnapped, I know how to get away. If I get stranded in the friggin' desert after a rave, I know how to find water, and I know how to get home." The Slayer looked away. "I can take care of myself."

"Good."

There was only silence after that. Weevil kept watching her, watching the way she pulled in on herself. The way that all of her restless energy was channeled into waiting, it looked familiar to him. He just couldn't place it yet. It reminded him of when his sister Angelica would take her cat to the vet. The damn thing would freak out for the first ten minutes is was in the carrier, then it would get really still, waiting for its chance. Once the door opened, it was ready to explode into violence.

Faith reminded him of that, nights like these. He could relate.

"It's been longer than 24 hours since you promised to give Veronica and me some time. Are you planning anything stupid?" she asked, breaking the quiet.

"It'd only be stupid if I told you about it," he hedged. Truth was, he had a few ideas. He just hadn't yet managed to find the right time and place to act. What Faith had said to him outside the sheriff's station, about ending up in a cell, had stuck with him. Not that he hadn't done his time in juvie, and on community service detail, but he knew from friends and family that there was a big difference between Chino and the slaps on the wrist he'd gotten as a minor. The knowledge wasn't enough to stop him, but it was enough to make him want to think things all the way through.

"I think we'll have to agree to disagree on that point, ace," Faith replied wryly. "Anything that turns you from a 'spic-high school-student-slash-mechanic to a 'spic-dropout-ex-con isn't what I'd consider smart."

"You're assuming I'd get caught." Weevil's tone was guarded, and a little sharp.

"I'm assuming that things can go wrong. I also know what I'm talkin' about here. You may have a record, but you're not a killer. Hell, you only have juvenile offenses. You can get that shit expunged, have a real life someday." The brunette silently cursed herself. She didn't really have a way with words, and no matter how much she wanted to tell this guy that she _did_ know, she _was_ a murderer, she _did_ live with guilt and regret... she shouldn't. She couldn't blow her cover.

"A real life? Open your eyes, _hermana_. This _is_ real life. This is _my_ life. And graduating won't change the fact that this is not the land of opportunity. Not for people like me." He crossed his arms firmly, setting his jaw.

"People like you? Please. It's like you're so obsessed with living the stereotype, _cholo_, that you forget there's a whole world outside of Neptune and petty crime." The Slayer was gesturing expansively, half turned towards her friend.

"I am what I am, Faith. And a leopard can't change it's spots." He believed it, too. Weevil'd seen too many people try to chase their dreams, and wind up further down the gutter than they'd started. No use in trying to fight the system, only to avoid it when you could, and survive it when you couldn't.

"That is the biggest load of crap I ever heard," she burst out in response. "Anyone can change, if they want it bad enough. Anyone."

Weevil was refusing to meet her eyes. "Not all of us have daddies with cushy military connections and a $65,000 chopper."

Faith literally bit her tongue to keep herself from spilling her guts right then. From yelling at him about her junkie mother, her murdered watcher, her years of running with Las Meninas in South Boston... her three years in the pen, all the blood on her hands.

"If that's what you think, then I'm wasting my goddamn time," she managed, tasting blood. As she jerked the car door open, one hand grabbed her jacket. "See you around, kid. Probably through a couple inches of bullet-proof glass."

He didn't make a move to stop her as she got out, slamming the door behind her.

What did she know, really? She didn't know him, or what things were really like around here. A firm line divided those who could afford to to aim high, and those who had to take one day at a time. That line was pretty much a zip code distinction. No, the biggest plan he had was to make sure that Thumper went down, and went down hard, no matter if he had to get his hands a little dirty to do it.

The ex-biker's contemplation was interrupted by his cell beeping to let him know he had a new text message. His eyebrows climbed as he read what Veronica had to say.

[ GOOD NEWS. JUST LEFT LAMB'S OFFICE. WITNESS CAME FORWARD FINALLY. APB OUT ON THUMPER. ]

"Damn," he whispered incredulously. "What are the odds?"


	7. Faena

**AN: I know it might seem like some events are out of order. I'm assuming that Faith's presence is making some changes to the time line. Some lines taken from VM s2e19, "Nevermind the Buttocks" and s2e20, "Look Who's Stalking."**

The leather clad brunette looked wildly out of place in the sleek office space of Kane Software. Especially since she currently had her clunky, buckle-covered, black leather boots planted firmly on the desk of the security chief's desk.

Said security chief, Clarence Weidman, did not look particularly amused.

"I'll ask you again, Miss-"

"Just call me Faith," she cut him off. "Actually, I've got places to be, so why don't you let me shortcut through all the bullshit?"

"How do you propose we do that? You seem singularly disinclined to answer the simplest questions. Which is not in your best interest." The man leaned forward in his chair, emphasizing his veiled threat by steepling his fingertips.

The Slayer was not impressed. "My interest in the Kanes is none of your damn business. My presence in town? Also none of your damn business. Pretty much anything about me, my whereabouts, or my actions? None of your damn business. See? Cake. I'll go now." Her boots thunked to the floor as she made to rise.

"To the contrary. Everything that involves the Kanes is very much my business. So sit back down, little girl. You have no idea who you're dealing with." His gaze narrowed.

Faith snorted. "Alright then. I was going to give you a pass, for being such a good watch dog, but I'm pretty much done with this." Reaching inside her jacket, she pulled out a leather wallet, much like a police badge holder. She flipped it open and slapped it down on his desk.

"Special Agent Faith Miller. Department of Homeland Security. If you still think that anything I do is your business, I suggest you call up your NSA contacts, and have them put you through to Colonel Riley Finn. Then you can explain to him why you're poking your nose into one of his projects, and pissing off his operatives." She smirked, retrieved her badge. "Better luck next time."

Without waiting for a reply, Faith turned on her heel and strode out of the office. Damn, it felt good to have connections up the yin-yang. Nowadays, the U.S. Military knew better than to get involved in the battle against the supernatural. Instead, they provided intelligence, and if necessary, ground support to the NRWC. So far, it had worked out to everyone's benefit. The Council had tacit government sanction, and the military had plausible deniability.

So the badge was actually legit. And if Weidman summoned up the testicular fortitude to make that phone call, Riley would back her up, even if she wasn't working at his request at the moment. She had originally been willing to play ball with the security chief, but he dove straight in with veiled threats and intimidation bullshit. So she cut him off at the proverbial knees, and damn if it wasn't fun.

That evening, Faith shook her head as she rummaged through Veronica's closet. The blond was adding a belt to her little black dress.

"You know, where I come from, the evening usually ends after catching the crazy stalker guy, and having him hauled off to jail," the brunette complained, referring to their fun filled night of catching the Neptune High janitor, Lucky, as being Gia Goodman's stalker.

"Liar, liar. See, you forgot. It goes: step one, catch crazy stalker guy. Step two, party!" Veronica didn't actually sound enthusiastic. Her day had been hell, and all she wanted to do was curl up in her sweats with some violently cathartic action movie. She also wanted all males, with the exception of her dad and Backup, to be banished to an alternate dimension, after this morning's revelation that she had VD. Truth was, she would rather have some form of elective surgery than go to Logan's Alterna-Prom, which was sure to be a drunken fiasco. But she owed her friend Mac some moral support, for having to suffer through dinner on a pirate ship. Veronica only wished she had the kind of life where dodging a geek's attentions were the worst of her problems.

"Fine. But you want me to go to your prom?" This would be a first for the brunette. She inspected, and discarded a floor length red satin number. "No offense, V, but you don't really have anything that's my style here. At least not in a quasi-formal. I can't tell you the last time I wore a dress."

"It's the unofficial prom. The real one got canceled, so some of the 09ers decided to throw a party instead. Invitations said formal, but I don't really think it matters too much. However," Veronica added, "I do think that you can do better than torn jeans and a tank top that says 'If I Had Balls, They'd Be Bigger Than Yours'." She motioned towards the Slayer's current ensemble.

"Fair enough. How's this?" Faith pulled out a pair of black dress pants, and a black long sleeved button down that was shot through with silver thread.

"Better. Though I don't understand your aversion to wearing a skirt now and again." The detective leaned towards her vanity, applying eyeliner.

"It's the job. My," Faith hesitated, "-friend, Buffy, she can kick a guy's ass up and down the street in a pink sun dress and six-inch Manolo Blahniks. I, however, prefer comfort and range of motion without showing my goodies to the world." As she spoke, she started peeling off her clothes to change.

Veronica laughed. "Buffy? Is that her real name?"

"I know, right?" Faith buttoned the pants, and gave a quick turn. "Do I look okay?"

The blond glanced over, and grinned. "Very classy. The boys, they will be all over you."

"Like that's something new," the Slayer smirked. "Let's do this. Can we hit a drive-thru on the way over? I'm kinda-"

"-starved," Veronica finished for her. "Total shocker," she grinned.

Faith just flipped her off.

* * *

The Presidential Suite at the Neptune Grand was insanely crowded. This wasn't a case, and regardless of the free-flowing alcohol, it also wasn't some dive bar, so of course Faith felt insanely out of place. She squared her shoulders, and followed slightly behind Veronica, whose tense posture betrayed her own feelings on the subject.

The blond teen paused to greet a short brunette in a red dress who had matching streaks in her hair. "Mac, you really do look-"

"Don't distract me," the girl cut her off. "I'm planning how to kill you and make it look like an accident. I need a drink." With a scowl, she turned and headed to the bar.

"Who was that?" Faith asked, not sure if she should be sympathetic, amused, or take the threat seriously.

"Mac. The hacker friend I told you about. She got blackmailed into being the date of the biggest dork on the planet. It was kinda my fault. Hence the lack of love."

"Ouch," the Slayer winced. "But you'll patch up, right?"

"Eventually. When she's done being pissed at me. I hope," Veronica grimaced. "I just don't know how long that'll take."

"Welcome, Veronica, hot girl I've not yet met," Logan Echolls approached, offering a shadow of his habitual cocky grin.

"We've talked on the phone. I'm Faith," the brunette smiled, her skin prickling and her guts twisting in a familiar way. There was something about this guy that was setting off her Slayer alarms, but nothing that screamed 'overtly evil'. Maybe he had some kind of demon ancestry, or an ancient family curse. Yet another thing to check out.

"Right! Veronica's evil twin... I'll make sure to steer clear, if 'Ronnie is your good side." His mouth twisted a little bitterly. "Have fun. The Jack Daniels, it calls my name. See you around."

The blond watched him go, a faint expression of concern on her face. "Yeah. Tons of fun," she sighed, then brightened as she spotted Dick Casablancas and Madison Sinclair at the bar. " 'scuse me. I have taunting to do."

Faith shook her head, and turned to scan the crowd. Of all the people at the party, she only knew Veronica and Wallace, and the latter was more of an extremely casual acquaintance, seeing as they'd only met once or twice. The music playing wasn't really her speed, and her style of dancing wasn't something she wanted to show off here.

She needed to call Willow. Ever since the witch had cast the spell to activate all the Potentials, the redhead had a connection to the Slayer line. It was an extremely useful connection. Given a few moments to set up a ritual circle, she could mystically connect herself to any of them, and see through their eyes for a few minutes. In one memorable instance, when one of the newbies had been taken hostage and tortured, Willow had even managed a little long-distance spell-casting through the girl. Though it wasn't a high priority, Faith wanted to find out what it was about Logan that was giving her such strange signals. Having Willow check his aura was a lot faster than any of the alternatives, including trying to beat it out of him. That would only work if the kid actually knew why he was different.

This ability of Willow's was one of the reasons that she was a roaming NWRC asset, instead of being permanently stationed on the Hellmouth. Along with her girlfriend, Kennedy, the redhead traveled all over the globe, helping out where she was most needed and keeping tabs on all the girls, while Vi and Rona were the senior Slayers in Cleveland.

Faith walked out to the balcony, trying to find a spot out of casual earshot. She wasn't avoiding the social scene. Not at all. She was working on a case.

A short international phone call later, and the brunette closed her eyes. She took several deep breaths, raising her chin to feel a light breeze across her skin as she faced the Neptune skyline. No matter how many times she'd done this, no matter the years of working hand in hand with Willow, no matter how securely they'd put their painful past behind them, it still made her nervous to welcome the older girl into her mind.

"_Well, you did ask for it,_" a familiar voice ghosted through her thoughts. "_Relax. Open your eyes. You're not glowing or anything. Now go find this guy so I can take a look for you._" Willow's amusement left a taste like tart green apples.

When Faith complied, she noticed, as always, that her vision was sharper and more defined. The colors were more intense, the shadows held more contrast. It was weird, to see things the way the Wiccan did. She made her way casually back to the party, scanning the crowd for Logan.

"_How close do I need to get?_" she silently thought back.

"_For most things, I'll only need a visual. If you can manage it, a little skin contact will give me a lot more to work with. Your call,"_ Willow replied telepathically.

The brunette spotted him by the bar, and started making her way towards him. "_Tall guy with the whiskey, twelve o'clock."_

"_Get ready._" There was a sense of momentary disorientation as her vision changed once again. Faith bit back a curse as she looked Logan over. Heavy swirls of black and gray surrounded him, punctuated by flashes of sickly gray-green and muddy blood-red. There were holes and jagged edges, erratic movement and chaos. She didn't know what it meant, but was pretty sure it wasn't good.

"_Goddess protect us,_" the Slayer heard the startled utterance in her thoughts. _"This is bad. Hate, anger, despair... uncertainty, and yeah, definitely some demon-y taint. Can you...?"_

"_On it."_ Faith reached the 09er's side, swallowing her nausea as she smiled at him.

"Care to share?" she asked, reaching for his bottle and casually brushing his fingertips. Willow's shock and consternation reverberated through her, making her miss his reply, though he did pour her a shot of her very own. Grateful, she slammed it down and made her escape back to the balcony.

"_I... I think something's been feeding on him._" Willow's mind-voice was queasy and upset.

"Like a vampire?" Faith forgot herself and spoke aloud, getting a few strange looks from others on the terrace.

"_Not quite. And not recently. But something's been draining his emotions and energy for a long time. I'm kinda shocked he hasn't killed himself. I don't know exactly what can do that sort of thing. I'd need to research more. I'll fill Wesley in and let him get back to you." _

"_Thanks, Wills,"_ Faith thought back apologetically. She could tell the witch was trying not to vomit.

"_Anytime. I just- gotta go. Take care."_ With a wave of affection that startled the brunette, her presence was gone and Faith was alone in her mind once again.

"Damn." She looked back over to the young man in question, and saw he was engaged in some kind of conversation with Veronica. And then he kissed her. Seconds later, the blond bolted.

"Double damn. There goes my ride."

* * *

Weevil was on his back, tightening a bolt on the undercarriage of a car in Angel's garage, when saw the boots approaching him. He wouldn't have heard the footsteps, not over the radio that was blaring a _cumbia_ remixed with hip hop vocals. Rolling out, he set his jaw when he met Hector's eyes. He sat up and reached for a rag.

"You here to start somethin', dawg?" Standing slowly, he continued, "Why don't you let me wash up beforehand. Unless you don't mind grease around your throat." The taste of bile was in the back of his mouth. Once upon a time, he had trusted the PCHer to have his back. All that had gotten him was a knife stuck in it, though not in a literal way. Not like Felix did.

"We made a mistake." Hector took a half-step towards the shorter man, his face a study in mixed emotions. Embarrassment. Guilt. Apology.

"A mistake? So you come here 'cause you think you can take it back?" Weevil snorted, giving a half-smile, then turned his back. He headed towards the radio, because that was as good of a distraction for his hands as anything. If he picked up one of his tools right now, Hector was going to get it shoved up his ass.

" 'Cause it's all I can do." The older man sounded genuine.

That didn't make it any better. Weevil couldn't just forgive and forget. He thumbed the switch on the radio, but didn't reply.

Hector resumed his plea. "It's the Fitzpatricks, Weevil. They been all over us. Just treatin' us like they bitches."

"My guess would be that's because you _are_ their bitches," he growled out. His fists clenched. It was hard to believe the stupidity of the boys he'd once called his own. Pushing for the Irish syndicate wasn't easy money. It was the hardest kind of cash, the kind you earned with blood and pain- usually your own.

"It's just been getting worse since Thumper got sent up, man. We need help." It was the closest the biker could get to begging.

"You still here, Hector?" Weevil replied dismissively, looking away. The PCH wasn't his problem. Not anymore. They'd made their bed, and they were damn well going to lay in it.

"You remember Arturo? That freshman you wouldn't let join up? He got a cigarette lighter to his face when he missed a payment. People are gonna die, Weevil. Your people. Thought you should know." Having played the last card in his hand, Hector sent up a silent prayer, and left the garage.

Weevil's jaw clenched again. It wasn't his problem. It wasn't.

Faith pretty much had two options at this point. She could call someone to come pick her up, or she could walk the ten miles back to the Mars' apartment in borrowed shoes. Sure, Slayer healing meant the blisters would be gone just a few minutes after appearing, but they'd still sting. Sighing, she reached for her PDA. How anyone got anything done before wireless technology, she had no clue.

Weevil answered on the second ring. "Yeah?" he snarled.

"Whoa. I was gonna ask for a quick favor, but if you're busy being pissed off, I'll just get a cab," she retorted.

"What do you need?" The ex-biker scaled back the aggression, but his irritation was still easy to hear.

"Veronica ditched me at some party, and I need a ride back to my bike. But like I said, if it's a problem, I'll figure something out." It occurred to Faith that it might be a good opportunity to try to talk to him again. When the girl occasionally dubbed "The Dark Slayer" thought someone had rage issues... well, Weevil definitely needed to find some kind of a legal outlet for his stress. He was going to wind up dead or in prison, otherwise.

Weevil sighed. He took another deep breath, and sounded almost calm as he asked, "Where are you, then?"

"Swank hotel. It's the Grand something." The brunette sounded apologetic.

"I'll be there in fifteen. If you're at Echoll's shindig, steal me some top shelf, _morena._"

Faith laughed. "What's your poison? Whiskey?"

"Do I sound Irish to you?" he shot back, an edge coming back to his voice.

"Tequila it is, _cholo_. See you soon." She replied quickly, and headed for the bar.

It wasn't long before she was sliding into the passenger side of the distinctive green Impala. "Your fee," she grinned, pulling a glass bottle out from behind her back.

Glancing at the label, Weevil felt his eyebrows creep upwards. "Patrón Añejo? Damn."

"Hey, you said top shelf, I got you the best. Least I could do for you rescuing me from Dick Casablanca's attempts to get in my pants. Did I mention he brought a party pig?" Faith joked.

He laughed. "So do you want to do something? Knowing you, it should involve food."

"I can't," she replied regretfully. As usual, the after-effects of Willow's spell were starting to kick in. She had weird energies running through her body, and the only ways to get rid of them were a quick slay, or a quick lay. Since she really didn't want to have to ditch Weevil before the sheets were dry, it meant she needed to motor down to San Diego for a few hours of patrol.

"You got plans?" Weevil didn't sound like he believed her.

"Kind of," she temporized. This was why she didn't make friends when she was working. She hated to lie to them, and they wouldn't believe the truth. "Something I have to do, anyway."

"And you couldn't use a ride, or some company? You just want me to take you to your bike?" There was just a touch of annoyance in his tone.

"Pretty much. It's complicated." Faith looked away. Things always were. Even now, the once-comfortable rapport they had shared was strained.

"Yeah. Things always are, with you," he echoed her thought. Pulling in outside the Mars' apartment complex, he motioned for her to get out. "Your stop, ma'am."

The brunette exited slowly, giving him an apologetic look. "I-"

He drove off before she could finish whatever she was going to say. Faith scowled, and made her way to her motorcycle. May the gods help any nasty that crossed her path tonight.


	8. Luna De Fuego

AN: Some lines taken from VM s2e19 "Nevermind the Buttocks"

**Anyone have an opinion on Trilogy vs. Really Long Fic? Please, I need the feedback.**

It was late afternoon. Faith and Veronica were sprawled on the couch at Mars Investigations, browsing a classic car website.

"Sucks about the dog," the brunette said sympathetically. "Who jumps a curb like that unless they're owed money? That's right up there with leaving a dead horse in somebody's bed."

Veronica gave her a strange look that turned thoughtful. The front door opened, drawing her attention away.

"Hey, Dad."

Keithsmiled broadly, dropping his briefcase by the door and triumphantly producing an old yearbook.

"Okay, honey. Now prepare to be impressed."

"Dad, you've shown me your yearbook. The whole Rick Springfield feathered hair thing, it looked awesome on you. But those days are over, and it's time to move on." She gave a cheeky grin, scooting over on the couch to make room for him.

The detective rolled his eyes, settling down between the girls. The book, he placed on the coffee table and flipped it open. Faith obligingly moved over, taking the laptop with her. The classic cars weren't so much her speed, but there were a few vintage Harley Davidsons on the page that made her want to cream.

"This is Kendall Shiflett's high school yearbook. You know how I'm looking into the insurance payout connections to see if she had anything to do with the bus crash?" Keith reminded to his daughter, since the young bounty hunter seemed disinterested in his revelation.

"Was she named 'Most likely to commit murder for profit'? That'd really support our theory." Veronica leaned over the open page, seeking out Mrs. Casablancas' picture. She paused, blinking a few times. "Hello, weird hairdo girl who is not Kendall."

"Gets weirder," Keith added, flipping to a marked page and tapping on another photo. It was clearly Kendall, or the woman who was claiming that name. The woman who had married Dick Casablancas and had an affair with Logan Echolls.

"Priscilla Banks? A senior? I don't get it," Veronica began. In less than a blink of an eye, Faith had lunged forward.

"You know where Priscilla Banks is?" she gaped, dumbfounded. "I have had that bitch's house staked out for weeks, and I haven't got a thing," Faith continued, looking expectantly at Keith.

"Um." The detective inched away slightly. "Apparently Ms. Banks is using the name of a deceased friend from high school. Kendall Shiflett. She did a stint as a Laker Girl, and then married a rich local businessman, Dick Casablancas, Sr."

"Damn. Last I had on her, she did a six month stint for wire fraud. Priscilla was partnered with a guy named Cormac Fitzpatrick – Liam's older brother. They were grifters, runnin' the long con. She was the roper. There's a house in her name here in town, but no one's been near it except me and the mailman." Faith looked down at the yearbook, an unnameable emotion flickering through her eyes. The woman looked exactly like Cordelia Chase. "Double damn."

Keith cleared his throat. "Apparently Ms. Banks was driving, when she had an accident. Her passenger, Kendall Shifflet, was killed."

"Why are you looking for her?" Veronica asked, looking questioningly at Faith.

The brunette's jaw tensed. "She's got family that needs her."

"I spoke to her father on the phone. He says her mother passed away recently," Keith shifted uncomfortably. "So if it's related to that..."

"No, I mean her real family. She was adopted. 'Priscilla' has a twin sister in L.A., Cordelia Chase. I... I need to go call my boss." Faith stood, visibly shaken up. "Thank you, Keith."

"I don't want to get hopes up for tearful reunions," he replied. "If she's responsible for the deaths of the students on the bus, she'll be going back to jail for a long time."

"Doesn't matter," the Slayer brushed it off. "Cordy doesn't need hugs. She needs bone marrow." With a grimace, she stepped outside with her phone, ripping open a new pack of Camels on her way outside. Her Zippo was out and lit before she cleared the door.

Veronica and Keith looked at one another.

"Is it just me, or did that look personal to you, too?" the blond asked her father.

The detective could only shake his head.

When Faith came back into the office, Keith had already left. However, Veronica was not alone.

"Clemmons changed the locks on me. But I made a copy." She produced a file folder, and a copy of the wooden paddle that had been confiscated from Thumper's locker on his expulsion from Neptune High.

"You're unbelievable," Weevil gave a half-smile, shaking his head.

"What can I say? You bat those Maybelline lashes at me, I just can't say no." Veronica situated herself back on the couch, grabbing her laptop. "What do you say we find out who some of these fine folks are?"

Weevil sat down next to the blond, watching with interest as she ran plates through her PI software. His brow furrowed as he thought hard. He hesitated.

"I hate to get you more involved in this, but... you mind hanging on to a copy of whatever we find? You know. 'Where's Weevil' insurance?"

Faith spoke up from her position leaning against the reception desk. "I can do that for you. I can even get copies spread out for you. New York, Rio, LA... even if the Fitzpatricks figure out that they're out there, they'll never be able to get to 'em. Won't take but a minute."

The ex-biker met her gaze, and nodded slowly. "That'd be good. I owe you one."

Faith smiled back wryly. "If I don't want you to go to jail, you can assume I want you murdered by drug lords even less."

"Fair enough."

"First hit. Here we go." Veronica cracked her knuckles and grabbed a notebook.

A few hours later, the Slayer unobtrusively tailed Weevil to the darkened pier where the Fitzpatrick crew met up with the PCHers. Her distinctive bike, she left chained up a half mile or so away, hidden behind a billboard. She scaled a fire escape to get a good view of the proceedings.

Weevil seemed to be holding his own against Liam. The Irish mobster snatched a packet of papers from the younger man's hands, taking a look at the list of drug clients that Veronica had just compiled.

"So how do I know you didn't make a copy?" Liam glowered.

Weevil snickered. "Oh, I did make copies. Lots of 'em. And the day I go missing is the day they go public. Might want to keep that in mind." He punctuated his words by tapping his temple lightly.

"Right. You might wanna watch your back, kid," the Irishman threatened.

Weevil didn't look concerned. "Why? You're gonna be watching it for me."

Unable to come up with anything, Liam instead merely narrowed his eyes, and crew in tow, left.

The bikers let out a cheer, coming up to congratulate their former leader.

"I knew you'd come through for us, man." Hector offered his hand, a broad smile in place.

Weevil didn't take it.

"So you're back now, right?" Bootsie asked cockily. "Just like old times."

A withering look was directed at him. "You boys are on your own now. Gotta watch your own backs." Head held high, Weevil made his way back to his car, leaving stunned gang members in his wake. Only Hector nodded slightly in understanding.

From her rooftop, Faith smiled slightly to herself. Maybe his refusal had more to do with their betrayal than anything else, but it could also mean that Eli Navarro was seeing a few more options in his future besides gangs and crime.

* * *

The next morning found Veronica back in the witness stand at the Lilly Kane murder trial. It went horribly, terribly wrong. Not only was the prosecution missing the tapes destroyed by Logan Echolls, but the defense attorney was quick, intelligent, and ruthless. The teen detective's love life was mercilessly dissected, and her STD made public knowledge. Great.

Faith had gone to lend moral support to her friend, and try to catch a glimpse of the movie star. The second she was in the courtroom, though, she spotted someone familiar. No one she knew by name, but definitely someone who would be able to recognize her on sight.

The defense attorney. She almost smacked herself on the forehead as she made an abrupt about-face and left the building. Aaron Echolls killed a Slayer, something had been feeding on his son's misery for years, and now, he was being represented by none other than Wolfram & Hart. It's like he had an enormous, blinking sign over his head that screamed "Hey! I'm evil!"

If he was plain ol' human evil, there wasn't much Faith could do about it. And if he was slayable evil, then the questions came up about how one would go about making a famous action hero disappear without ending up back in the clink.

Outside, perched on the hood of Veronica's car, she dialed Wesley.

"Hello?" came the response after just a few rings.

"Hey, Wes. Any luck with those profiles for me?" The words were mumbled around the filter of the cigarette she'd just stuck in her mouth.

"Erm, let me grab that file..." there was the sound of paper shuffling, before the British voice returned. "Ah. Demons that feed on emotion, or the causing thereof. You have the typical, the incubi and succubi, who feed on sexual energies," Wesley offered. "Those are most likely."

"I don't think so. Well, maybe. The guy I think it is is definitely passing for human, and he was knockin' boots with a Slayer for a while. But the victim whose aura Wills checked out was his son. A lot of despair, misery, and self-loathing, though I do hear he is quite the man-slut." Faith took a long drag, exhaling a plume of smoke.

"Hmm," the Watcher made a thoughtful noise. "If what you suspect is true, then that narrows it down. There is a form of East Asian vampire that feeds on emotional residue of any kind. Have you noted a sort of greenish film to his skin, possibly fur-like?" The sound of flipping pages was heard.

"That's a negative. Or if he does, he's had that shit waxed." Faith cracked her neck, stretching.

"The Thesulac demon is an incorporeal creature that feeds on insecurity and terror... it usually instigates panic and paranoia by whispering to a person's deepest fears. We had one here at the hotel a few years back, as I recall. They tend to haunt specific places." His tone grew slightly more detached as he entered research-mode.

"Big no on the incorporeal. Unless it got made corporeal? Could that happen? Plus, it's less of a place thing, and more of a person." Faith reminded herself not to get impatient. It wasn't like Wes could Google this stuff.

"Some of the Greater Lords of Hell are said to gain power by torturing those at their mercy, both mentally and physically. But it's unlikely that one of those is about, since they tend to be covered in eyes and horns, and run with the cloven-hoofed crowd. I'll keep looking into possibilities."

"Don't forget possession, and if it's some kind of black warlock mojo," the Slayer offered.

"The raising of mystical energies by inflicting harm? Excellent thought. I'll keep you posted," Wesley promised.

"Thanks again, Wes." Her eyes turned back to the courthouse, as she worried about the trial.

"My pleasure, as ever," the Watcher replied politely before disconnecting.

Faith sighed, slipping her PDA back in her pocket. There were too many mysteries in this town, too many players. Too many black hats, and not enough of them with pointy horns or other obvious signs that they fell under the Slayer's jurisdiction. Too many questions.

Weevil wasn't feeling particularly sociable that night. He felt like hitting something- several somethings. Repeatedly. But mostly, he wished that action star Aaron Echolls would get what was coming to him in a major way. The bastard had walked that afternoon. Walked! He should've known better than to think that a rich, white celebrity would get convicted in this crappy town.

He felt like getting hammered, and getting in fight. That was how he'd ended up at El Borracho, the dirtiest, seediest bar within fifteen miles of Neptune that wasn't run by the Irish mob. He was looking for a brawl, not a stabbing.

Somehow, he wasn't the least bit surprised when a curvy brunette seated herself beside him and ordered up a double.

"How's V?" he grunted.

"Lousy. At home with Keith." Faith accepted a grimy shot glass from the bartender, and knocked it back in one go. She motioned for another.

The muscles in Weevil's jaw tensed. "He kills Lilly, and he locks V in a box and sets in on fire. And he gets nothing. Own recognizance for time served, blah blah. I hate this place."

"Can't say I'm too fond of it right now, either," the Slayer replied grimly.

"Yeah, well, you can always pack your shit and go. Nothin' keeping you here. Trial over." He finished off his own drink, slammed the glass down just a little harder than necessary.

"Nothin' keeping you here past graduation, either," Faith commented mildly.

Weevil just snorted. He looked over at her, giving a half smile as he reached for her hand. Faith didn't react as he took it, not even when he wrapped one hand around her wrist. When he ran his touch over the tattoo between her thumb and forefinger, however, she jerked back.

"That's what I thought," his smile turned nasty. "Funny scar tissue you've got under there. Three dots in a triangle, probably done with a ballpoint and a paper clip. Dominican gang tat. If you're tryin' to keep people from realizing you were on the inside, though, you probably shouldn't have gotten prison ink for cover up. Suit of Clubs. Ex-warrior." He hadn't realized himself until he reached for Faith, that the fight he wanted to pick was with her.

"That was a long time ago," the brunette hissed, looking away.

"Yeah. Somewhere between military school and becoming a bounty hunter, you managed to to join up, and then get sent up. Judging from the way you bolt your food, and the way you get jumpy in enclosed spaces, you were in at least a year. You've been busy. And full of shit." He helped himself to her drink, raising it in ironic toast.

"It's complicated." Faith still wouldn't look at him, her body language tense. She didn't know what to say. The truth was too unbelievable, and she doubted he'd accept another lie.

"You talk like a Southie. Whenever you talk about your past, or your family, I can tell you're lying. So what's it gonna be, Faith? Are you going to keep on giving me the same line? I've put up with it. Your condescending, 'Oh Weevil! You can be better than this!' bullshit," his voice spiraled up into a falsetto as he mimicked her. "I thought that maybe you'd figure out that you can trust me by now. I've had your back, and I've trusted you with mine. I let you babysit me, and treat me like an idiot, and now, I'm done. You've got two options here, _morena_. You can tell me the goddamn truth, or you can leave. Don't expect me to be here if you ever come back."

Brown eyes met. Faith read sincerity, intensity, and anger in his. Weevil could practically see the wheels turning in hers. She broke away first, sighing. Her tattooed hand rubbed her forehead, and she stood, tossing a few bills on the bartop. He clenched his jaw, thinking he had his answer. His levels of pissed off were climbing even higher.

The brunette took one step before turning back. "I need a smoke. You comin'?" Faith cocked her head to one side. What she was about to do was a violation of every NRWC policy in the books. Too bad she had always sucked at following the rules.


	9. Furia

**AN: Sorry about the long wait for update. I fractured my wrist at the end of May, and as you can imagine, it made typing a little difficult. It's mostly better now, but don't expect more than weekly updates, if that. Darn real life. **

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True to her word, Faith needed a cigarette. Once outside, she walked over to the far parking spot that held Weevil's car and perched on the hood while lighting up. He reached over to snag one for himself, before settling next to her.

"I didn't know you smoked," she commented.

"Not for a while. And your bony ass better not scratch my paint," he replied companionably. Weevil stole her lighter, too. The stylized design on the front of the Zippo was of a human heart, bearing the words "Heart Breaker". A snap-hiss, and a flicker of flame were followed by deep breath and a curl of smoke escaping his mouth. He handed it back.

Faith studied his profile. No matter how many times she gave the speech to newbie Slayers and their families, she never quite knew where to start. But he wanted to know the truth. The corner of her mouth quirked, and she decided where to begin.

"You have a choice, Eli," she broke the silence, startling him with the use of his real name. "There was a moment like this in that movie, The Matrix. Red pill, blue pill. If you really want to know the truth, you want to know why I've been lying to you, if you want the real story of all the shit I deal with every day, I'll tell you. I'll show you. And you'll never be the same again. I'm a front line soldier in a war that has been going on for thousands of years. I live fast, and chances are, I'll die real damn young. I've already lost more friends than I can count. It's dangerous, and it's hard, and it's a life filled with deception and violence. So far, what I've just said? Could mean anything to you. Right now, I'm giving you the option to call me a crazy bitch, and walk away. Because once you know the truth, once I've shown you what I've seen, what I've done..." Faith turned haunted eyes to him. "You can't un-know this shit."

Weevil watched her intently. He knew to the depth of his bones that she was being straight with him right now. And he also knew that, while it would hurt her if he told her she was full of it and walked away, Faith thought it was probably for the best. That it would be his smartest move to just let it go, and get out. Maybe she was involved in some sort of turf-war, or was part of some government black-ops crew. Whatever this truth was, it was some deep shit, if she'd lost as many people as she claimed.

"Why did you choose to get involved?" he stalled, needing something more to help him decide. If it was really as life-altering as she claimed, Weevil wanted a little more to go on.

Faith toyed with the lighter, flipping it open, then shut again. "At first, I didn't choose. I was drafted. Was told it was my duty, my destiny. Years later, that was when I chose. I decided to give it everything I had. Because if I didn't, if I refused, then people were going to suffer, and people were going to die. Not just people I knew, not just people I cared about... lots of people. Joe Shmoes, living their lives without any clue about the real deal. They were going to suffer, and bleed, and die, and it was all on me." Her shoulders hunched, as if the weight of the world had suddenly descended on them.

It was then that Weevil realized, the weight had always been there. The weight of responsibility, the weight of guilt. She just usually hid it better.

"All it takes for evil to triumph, is for good men to do nothing," he quoted softly.

Faith shot him a sharp look. "Exactly," she murmured. "Exactly."

Weevil nodded, and took a deep breath. Almost as an afterthought, he took a hit off his cigarette. "Will my family be in danger?" he asked neutrally.

"More than they already are, just by living? Not necessarily. Just knowing about the fight doesn't make you a soldier." She thought carefully, about rookies and their families becoming targets. Neptune was on the lower end of the supernatural spectrum, for some reason, at least as far as random vamp attacks and such were concerned. "No," she repeated more confidently. "It shouldn't, as long as you're careful."

"I'm no good at doing nothin'," Weevil stated firmly, flicking his cigarette out into the night. He turned towards the brunette, expression serious. "You've tried to scare me off. I don't think you're crazy. I said earlier that I've got your back, and that hasn't changed. So lay it on me, _morena_. I want to know."

Faith smiled brilliantly at him, though her eyes still carried a hint of sadness. "You good to drive?"

"Yeah," he replied, caught a little off guard by the question. "Where to?"

"San Diego. It's a lot bigger hot spot than Neptune is, so I can show you a few things. And we can talk in the car." She dropped her own Camel to the ground, and stepped on it. Car doors opened, and both passengers slid inside.

Weevil started the ignition, one hand on the gear shift.

"So where do you want to start?" Faith asked, reaching to turn off the radio.

"How much do I really know about you? How much was lies?" He was pretty much ready to believe anything she told him, and it seemed she had a lot to tell. But he really wanted to know this first. To know how much she had trusted him, how much of his friend was real, and how much was bullshit.

The brunette turned towards him, settling herself more comfortably on the vinyl interior. "I lied as little as possible. You've pretty much figured out all the big ones. I'm not Cuban. My real dad isn't military, far as I know. I've never lived in Florida. I don't know if Veronica told you about finding my birth certificate? Jennifer Faith Alvarez Herrera? She was real. But she's not me. Her story, her family... when she died two years ago, they were given to me. I use her past as my cover. My real name is Faith Lehane. You were right about my being in a gang. And about prison."

Weevil glanced over at her. So far, he wasn't surprised by anything she'd said. His brow furrowed. "The name sounds a little familiar."

"Yeah, well, I was all over the news in May of 2000. Assault, grand larceny, and multiple murder." Faith held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

"That was you?" he looked surprised, but not threatened. "You would've been what, sixteen?"

"I was fifteen when I turned myself in. I killed my first man a year before that."

"Damn. So, juvie, then?" Weevil was processing. She didn't act like the stone killer that had been on the news all those years ago.

"Nope. They fast-tracked my trial since I plead guilty, and threw me in with the big girls for 35-life, no parole. I was in for three years, and then one of my friends came to see me for the first time. He told me that something big was going down, something they needed me for. So I broke out, helped save the world, and that was that. I thought about going back," at this point, her fists clenched, "but Giles and Angel talked me out of it. Told me I could do more good outside than in. So I laid low for a while, living in Cleveland with the rest of the crew. Then, after another big battle, Sarge joined up as a trainer, and offered to let me use his daughter's identity, since no one knew she was dead yet."

Weevil could see how much it was costing her to talk about this, but he couldn't tell her to stop. If she was willing to say it, he needed to hear.

"I accepted. Willow did some of her magic, and switched out our pictures. I did some boot camp and background studying, and so I've got a clean slate, as far as the paperwork is concerned. That pretty much covers anything I've outright lied about. Now, the parts I just haven't told you? They get a little more complicated." Faith stared out the window as they entered San Diego city limits.

He nodded. "Anywhere in particular you want me to go?" They were still on the highway, heading towards downtown.

Faith's brow furrowed in thought. "Next exit will do. Then we're gonna park and walk for a minute. The next part of the big reveal is more on the 'show' side, and less of the 'tell'. Trust me, it'll make it easier." She could only hope he didn't flip his shit once he saw that vampires were real.

"_A la orden_," he replied easily, flipping on his turn signal and easing towards a darkened street near rough looking section of downtown. Weevil felt like pointing out that he was being amazingly patient, but one glance at her tense features let him know that he shouldn't push it. This was important, this was big, and he was going to have to wait for more answers. He'd already gotten a few.

He parked on a side street, and locked his doors securely. A whispered prayer that his baby survive the night, and the pair began their seemingly aimless stroll down a network of alleys and back streets.

"Here's what's about to go down," Faith broke the silence about half an hour into their walk. The prickling sensation on the back of her neck let her know that the moment was close. "Some guys have been following us for a few blocks. They are going to try to jump us."

Weevil tensed, and his hand moved towards his pocket and his knife.

"I need you to trust me on this one. Try to avoid getting hit, and let me handle them. It's important," she said in an undertone. Faith watched his eyes narrow, his nostrils flare, and finally the sharp nod he gave her. She mentally inventoried the weapons she wore, from the hidden knife in its spine sheath, to the stakes in their quick-release wrist holders, to the emergency spare at her ankle. A cocky smile was flashed at her friend, as she waited for their stalkers to make themselves known.

"Follow my lead?" she purred, adding a slight weave to her stride, and beginning to giggle loudly in a fairly good imitation of being drunk. The side street they were on abruptly ended in a cinder block wall.

Weevil looked a little confused, but obligingly stumbled, slurring out a swear or two in Spanish. "Why does the sidewalk keep moving, baby? You sure the car's back here?"

"Can't remember," Faith replied, still giggling. "Did we bring the car?"

"Dunno," he began, and was saved from having to improvise more inebriated conversation by four dark shapes blocking off the end of the alley.

"Well, well. Look what we've got here, boys. Don't ya just love Friday nights?" the first figure spoke from the shadows.

Faith backed up quickly, pulling Weevil with her to place their backs against the wall. "What do you want?" she almost-whimpered. While her Slayer-senses were going haywire with the vampire-alerts, she wasn't going to risk a staking until she saw their game faces.

Gliding, inhuman steps brought the four into full view of moonlight. Yellow eyes and sharp fangs gleamed.

"What do we want?" one of them laughed.

"Dinner," a third finished with a snarl.

Faith spared a glance at Weevil, who was looking stunned. Turning back to the vamps, she let a wicked grin spread across her face. "How 'bout a nice stake?" she quipped, throwing herself at them before they had a chance to react.

In that first rush, she tackled one of them to the ground, and stabbed him through the heart with a practiced flip of her wrist. She rolled with the momentum, regaining her feet to pop up behind the tallest vamp. Her offensive continued with a brutal kick to his spine, which knocked him into another one of his cronies.

"Slayer," snarled the first one to speak as he fell into a fighting stance.

"Vampire," she returned casually, before launching into a flurry of kicks and blows that had him backing away. Faith sensed the others starting to surround her, and spun to throw one of her stakes. Dust filled the small alley. A claw-like hand grabbed her from behind, and she responded instantly with an elbow to the gut, and a fist to the face that took her attacker to the ground. An instant later, and it was that much harder to breathe.

The last remaining vampire turned to run. The Slayer took a flying leap, kicking off a nearby dumpster to land a solid foot between his shoulder blades, driving him into a conveniently placed pile of broken wooden pallets. The whole exchange took maybe three minutes.

Faith brushed vamp dust off her hands, and shook out her hair. Stooping to pick up her discarded stake, she turned to see how Weevil was doing.

"Those were..." he trailed off, looking confused.

"Vampires," she responded simply. She stopped a few feet away from him, waiting.

He seemed to think for a few long moments, then he shook his head. Meeting her eyes squarely, Weevil was at a loss for words. "Are there a lot of them?" he found himself asking.

"Enough to keep me in business. I wasn't lying about being a bounty hunter. Thing is, usually I'm hunting demons, not bail-jumpers. Though the skips tend to pay better. On the books, at least."

"Demons?" he asked, his voice almost cracking on the last syllable. His head cocked quizzically to one side.

"All sorts of 'em. Some are okay, just want to make their bills and live their lives. Others are more into eating babies, and a few select nasties like to try to kick start the apocalypse on a regular basis. That's where me and my people come in. Keep them in check." Faith grinned wryly.

"Huh." The young man thought that over for a bit, then slowly smiled. "You think I could take one?"

"Maybe. With practice. Vampires at least are tougher, stronger, and faster than an Olympic athlete. An they're on the low side of the power pyramid. Staking, sunlight, and decapitation are the only ways to kill them. Well, fire works too, but it can be a little conspicuous. Wanna go troll a cemetery and find out? The newbies are always a good place to start." The Slayer's grin widened.

"Hell yeah." Weevil cracked his knuckles. It would be good to kick the shit out of something and not have to worry about assault charges.

Faith blinked, a little take aback at his easy acceptance. "Right on," she replied. "Closest is a few miles east of here, so we might wanna go back to the car."

"One question," the ex-biker asked as they turned back towards his Chevy.

"Ask away."

"How 'bout a nice stake?" he inquired in disbelief.

"Hey! I suck at puns, alright?" Faith punched his shoulder, and he broke out laughing.

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As dawn broke over the horizon, Weevil dropped the Slayer off at her hotel. He was bruised, tired, and covered in a suspicious dusty substance. His hands ached, and he had splinters in his palms from the improvised stake he'd used against the third vampire he'd fought, but he felt something deep inside. Something that had been missing ever since Felix had been killed. Maybe it was just the cathartic nature of violence. Maybe it was the return of a piece of his self-respect. Maybe it was the realization of his place in the real universe, the one that contained vampires and demons and witches and Slayers. Or maybe it was the newly-restored bonds of friendship with the sassy brunette.

Whatever it was, when Weevil climbed into his bed, he found another thing he'd gone far too long without. A deep, and dreamless sleep.


End file.
